


Boys Helping Boys

by captainrum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Original Character(s), Romantic Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainrum/pseuds/captainrum
Summary: Castiel is a host of a makeover show called Boys Helping Boys, and Dean is the unkept straight guy getting made over for his brother Sam’s wedding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written in 2009 on LiveJournal for a Fusion Challenge in the deancastiel LJ community as a fusion between Supernatural and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Afterwards, I posted several stories in the same universe called _The Date, The Next Day, The Next Level, and The Red Carpet_ , and that's why there are significant time jumps.
> 
> When I moved this story the first time to AO3 around 2012, it was with a much longer revision. I removed this story from AO3 when I created this profile and simply never reposted. I did always mean to put it back up, and I never did because frankly writing is hard and I'm very critical of my own work. Anyway, that's all to say **this is a reposted story, but I am the original author.**
> 
> The story had aged a little (Dean and Cas were using flip phones originally), and I removed some nagging language here and there. I also edited a couple places where there was some unnecessary waffling about Dean's sexuality. For those that read this before there are sections at the end that may seem new, but they aren't. Those were scenes that were posted on my tumblr, and they are now reposted here. 
> 
> **vichan** and **aisling_door** both beta read this story many moons ago.

Though he’s over an hour late, Castiel Adams stands idly right where his driver left him, sipping his Starbucks coffee in no hurry whatsoever. The quaint house in front of him has the most comfortable looking swing bench hanging off the porch. He stayed out drinking until one in the morning, and he wouldn't mind a nap in that swing right about now. Instead, he settles against the mailbox deciding the porch is too far, and to hell with it he'll just fall asleep here. 

Before he can close his eyes though, a hand snatches his cup away. It is his friend Ian, friend loosely phrased since said _friend_ is currently drinking his coffee. 

"I see you're hung over," Ian says, adjusting the crimson scarf knotted in a loop around his neck. He looks out of place in his scarf and blazer, fashionable yet over-dressed for this particular sleepy neighborhood. 

Castiel himself rolled out of bed dressed in the same navy suit he wore last night, rumpled now but obviously well-made and expensive. Neither of them looks like they belong here. 

"I wondered why you didn't answer last night. I figured the drunk thing, but you look terrible," Ian informs him. 

It's a horrible morning already even though the only thing Castiel has done so far is drag himself out of bed and crawl into a limo. All he wants to do is sleep for the rest of the day. Heck, he wants to sleep for the next two days, and if he wasn’t in the middle of Lawrence, Kansas, he would be doing just that. 

“I’d like my coffee back," he demands since Ian isn't going away. 

“How did you manage a drunken tryst in Kansas?” Ian wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. They start walking in a direction Castiel doesn’t even take note of. He simply allows himself to be steered away. “Any stories I need to bury, Cas?” 

Ian the publicist has made an early appearance this morning. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Castiel mutters. 

In response, Ian lets out a long sigh. 

These days, Castiel can sense the speeches coming from a mile away. Ian is a colleague and a friend when the mood suits and no one else is around. Castiel actually likes Ian. He's chipper and quirky. He knows what he wants and takes it by the balls, often literally, and Castiel envies the man's certainty. However, he isn’t in the mood, and he grimaces at the thought of having to listen to Ian talk. 

“I’m not sure you’re going about this break up in the right way.” Ian gestures his finger around in Castiel’s face with a lazy circle. 

Castiel shifts out of Ian's suddenly very uncomfortable grasp. 

“This isn’t you, and I think you need to prepare—"

“—stop!” Castiel interrupts. "Please." It's hard to say for sure which part is worse, hearing the truth or remembering what's happening today, but he's determined not to think about it, a task that would be easier with another bottle of tequila. It definitely would be easier if Ian ever kept his mouth shut. 

“Ethan was out with Leslie Stevenson last week." The words tumble out, appearing to surprise even Ian, because once he says it, he cringes at Castiel like he smacked him in the face with reality by accident. 

Castiel brakes mid-stride, and God his head aches. Why does Ethan’s rebound guy have to be Leslie Stevenson? Ethan's new world-traveling, rich, photographer boyfriend is hot, like male-model-in-a-magazine hot, and Castiel’s morning takes a turn south past hell into, well, whatever's below hell. 

“Oh," he says after a couple deep breaths.

“Oh?” 

“Yes. Oh.”

Ian shakes his head as if he can't believe that juicy nugget of gossip is warranting such a limited reaction. Knowing Ian, he would've tipped off the press first had he known. 

If there's one thing Castiel doesn't want to do today though, it's talk about Ethan. After their show went on a filming hiatus in April, he’s managed to get away with not talking about him to anyone, including even himself. He intends to ride that out for as long as possible so he stares at the ground and hopes Ian takes the hint.

“Okay, have it your way.” Ian holds up his hands in forfeit, and they start walking again. “We're running behind schedule.”

Castiel barely nods his head, barely even pays attention. “Of course we are,” he says.

“Yeah, but we still have the corn-fed Kansas boys to keep busy,” Ian offers with a dangerous, somehow horny, glimmer in his eyes.

“No” is all Castiel answers. 

“Oh right," Ian demurs. "I forget mixing a little business with pleasure is crossing the line.” 

Castiel makes a mental note of the look Ian gives him. They both know he mixes those two lines more than a little. “We help straight men,” he says. 

“What? They're fun.” Ian laughs to himself clearly thinking about tons of fleeting experiences full of confused heterosexuals. 

“They’re straight." Castiel hopes that’ll convince Ian not to embarrass himself this time but knows that won’t happen.

“Uh huh. So?” Ian breaks his face from grinning so hard, but a second later, a horrifyingly sympathetic smile takes its place. “See you okay? In a bit." Ian grips his arm in a reassuring squeeze before walking away. 

Castiel doesn't bother responding because he sees someone approaching him from out of the corner of his eye. It's only then it dawns on him that he is late, very late. He straightens and attempts to walk with purpose towards wherever he's supposed to be, but since he's late and still hungover, he has no idea exactly where that is. All he knows is that the _Boys Helping Boys_ producers decided it would be fun to do a special wedding episode for the season premiere. That it would be fun to drop two urbanites off in the middle of Kansas, Castiel's guessing to observe what exciting things may happen. It’s Kansas. It isn’t that exciting, not even with him getting wasted last night. 

"Castiel!" A frazzled-looking female production assistant calls out his name. "You missed the introductions with the guest."

At the time introductions were scheduled, Castiel was puking over a toilet so he isn't going to apologize or anything. He also doubts she wants him to describe the experience. "I know," he says.

The assistant rolls her eyes at him, likely pegging him as one of those self-obsessed celebrities only around to make her life miserable. "Too late to do anything about it. We are trying to fit in a TV show and a wedding so cooperation today and tomorrow from you would be ideal," she says.

"I understand." 

She sighs again as Castiel distractedly pushes his sunglasses up on the top of his head, and they walk up a cobblestone path towards the front door. 

He stares longingly at the faded swing bench as they climb the stairs onto the porch. It looks even more comfortable up close like it was put there for him. He pictures himself spending an entire day in this spot. It's quiet here, no roar of city traffic, and he likes this house very much. 

As the assistant opens the door for him, she starts to fill him in on his morning. "Scouting is done. A good amount of stores agreed to let us film inside, but obviously inventory is limited out here. You're with the best man before Ethan. No date to his brother’s wedding, trying to meet a girl. Typical single guy story," she says. 

It's hard to say whether or not Castiel even hears her, though, because when he steps inside that homey feeling slips away. The inside of the house definitely isn’t picturesque, that much is for sure. Pool table, mismatched furniture, a useless gigantic TV, and posters of woman in skimpy bathing suits. Whoever decorated this place called it a day at teenage boy. The one indication that a grown-up even lives here is a small bookcase in the corner that's currently being blocked by piles of film equipment. 

Castiel moves through the foyer and eventually comes to a staircase that leads up to the second floor. It's no wonder this man can't get a date. His house screams overcompensating womanizer. He groans at the thought as he ascends up the stairs.

"You're late!" A voice shouts at him, and someone directs Castiel down a long hallway once he reaches the top step towards a room at the end. 

He scopes out the master bedroom as soon as he enters. Two crew members are setting up lights in the corner. On the night stand, he spots a couple books and a faded photo of two guys at a graduation, and beside a big bay window, an old Bon Jovi poster is tacked to the wall. Compared to downstairs, it isn't a travesty but it's nothing to cheer over. The lone cameraman near the door looks extremely frustrated by the talent’s late arrival; however, before Castiel can even ask what’s going on, Julian Taylor saunters up to him.

And it's official. 

Today is the worst day of Castiel's life, which includes a list of the day Ethan moved out and the night, two weeks later, that he ended up in bed with Julian. The only reason Julian even has this job is because his daddy owns the production company. Sleeping with him wasn't Castiel's best move ever. He acknowledges his one night stand with a faint smile and one eye on the door, already planning an escape route.

Julian smiles back as if he knows what Castiel is thinking and is amused over the fact that no matter what Castiel thinks of him he's still seen him naked. "Greaaaat…” Julian drags out the word out then gestures beside him. "This is Dean Winchester."

Castiel busies himself, shrugging out of his suit jacket and placing it neatly on the bed, vexed that Julian, while wearing his ridiculous I'm-a-serious-filmmaker beret, just so casually addressed him. He turns around now recognizing that another person has been standing there this entire time, and instantly, like lightning cracking against concrete, something good happens to him. 

The first good thing all morning. 

Two eyes blink back at him, both a lovely green under this angle of the lights. Pretty eyes is all he thinks. Eyes made for gazing into, eyes that blur out everything else. His heart beats wild against his chest as he stares into them. 

"Hello, Dean," he finally says, surprising himself with the casualness he manages to fake, as though he isn't momentarily picturing those eyes peering down at him from a highly inappropriate position. "I’m Castiel. Cas." 

"Hey, yourself," Dean answers in a gruff voice, sounding about as thrilled to be here as someone at a root canal appointment.

Castiel face falls as he takes a moment to get a better look at Dean, and the room spins back into focus. 

This man is a mess. He has on a godawful Led Zeppelin t-shirt with holes in the sleeves, probably worn from one to many rounds in the laundry. Clunky workman boots and faded jeans, no thank you. He even has a beard. A beard. An ugly untamed beard for goodness sake. He isn't the worst dressed guest ever, but he's up there. The one redeeming factor being that Dean looks like someone found him in a dumpster outback central casting. You can tell there's a good-looking person somewhere in there needing to be rescued. However, the scowl on Dean's face reads that isn't about to happen without a fight.

"You look awful," Castiel says.

Dean raises an eyebrow back at him. "Gee thanks?"

"My apologies—it’s just your clothes. They’re awful." 

"Yeah. So I've heard. Look, buddy, I didn't sign up for this little dog and pony show. My brother and his Bridezilla from hell did."

"I take it you’re not a fan then." 

"No. _Not_ a fan."

Castiel sighs. The moment he walked through the door, he didn't expect much in the way of adoration. Mostly woman liked the show, and Dean, with his rock t-shirts and boob posters, wasn't exactly _Boys Helping Boys_ fan-material. Besides he’s met enough men to know Dean's type. Overcompensating womanizer, a badly dressed one, but he isn't someone you turn down, not with those eyes.

"No matter.” Castiel steps towards the closet and the pile of clothes on the floor. None of it looks any better than what Dean's currently wearing. If possible, it all looks worse. 

He plasters a smile on his face and waits for the cameraman to join them. "I suggest you start talking. From the looks of you, we've got a lot of work to do."

*****

Dean Winchester doesn’t want to talk about clothes. Not his clothes. Not anybody else’s clothes. Not today. Not yesterday. Not ever. So the fact that he spent an hour listening to a guy jabber on about how his clothes aren’t doing him any favors when it comes to women pisses him off. He has a whole list of things he’d rather be doing today and not a single one of them has anything to do with clothes, weddings, or relationships. He officially hates this entire day because everyone, complete strangers even, keep complaining that his t-shirts are unfit. How is Zeppelin unfit? Someone explain that one. 

The thing is he didn’t sign up to have his personal life dissected on national television. He’d rather do that alone in the comfort of his bed with tissues, lotion, and a bottle of whiskey. That is to say _if_ his life needs dissecting, which it definitely doesn’t. He is just fine thankyouverymuch. 

He blames Sam for this entire god damned mess. If he was going to pick a TV reality show to appear on, it wouldn’t have been _Boys Helping Boys_. It is all about hair and clothes. Two things that he could care less about. No self-respecting man, or hell, self-respecting person should ever agree to be poked and prodded on camera. If Sam hadn’t whipped out the guilt-trip face, Dean would’ve told him to shove it. That’s why he blames Sam. His brother and his gigantic mouth and his pleading about the producers loving his story. 

It isn’t a story. It’s his life. 

Now it’s too late to back out, what with all these damn people taking over his house this morning with their crap. His role in this circus is to be fixed up on a date for Sam and Jess’s wedding. He has a headache thinking about it. Actually, it’s been a dull non-stop throb for the past two weeks since he found out. This mess also puts a damper on his plans to use his status as the handsome best man to pick up a few lonely bridesmaids. No one asked if he wants this date, girlfriend, or whatever, but supposedly the right jeans will make a difference in finding one. He doesn’t necessarily see how but asking requires talking about clothes. 

And he’s not talking about clothes. 

He would rather go find Sam and smack the crap out of him for letting Jessica sign up with this godforsaken shit of a show. _Boys Helping Boys_. What the hell kind of name is that? 

“Come on! Keep your woman on a leash. Other people are suffering here,” Dean had whined when his brother brought up the idea. He wants to tell him the same thing right now. 

“…Dean, wait, we need to talk.”

Dean knows who that voice belongs to without even turning around. _Castiel Adams._ The one that likes clothes. The one that keeps staring at him. The one that without a doubt is going to make his life miserable today because the guy has already spent the morning doing just that. So he’s going to pretend—rudely or not—that he didn’t hear him.

A hand tightens on Dean's shoulder, stopping his momentum by jerking him backwards. Castiel looks irritated at being ignored, the dimly lit hallway turning his frown into a glare. The guy isn’t backing down.

Neither is Dean. However, he grows uncomfortable standing there, as the aroma of cream and coffee and something spicy swirls into him, reminding him of the fact that he’s missing a meal for this. He’s hungry, and Castiel isn’t helping by smelling all good like something he could eat. “Okay,” he agrees, moving back a step to give them room. 

“I wouldn’t take any of this too seriously. In two days, we’ll be gone and you can go back to wearing your hideous t-shirts,” Castiel says between clinched teeth, forcing a cordial tone which ends up a growl in that deep voice of his.

Dean sees straight through it, and he wants to laugh over the fact that he obviously isn’t Castiel’s favorite person either. Though for God’s sake, what the hell is wrong with his clothes? “Is that suppose to make me feel better?” he asks.

“Yes,” Castiel answers curtly. “I know this isn’t your choice but cooperation would be ideal.” 

Ideal? Ideal is not being here. Ideal is a pack of beer and a football game. Ideal is his life being less of a waking suckfest right now. He wonders if Castiel is mocking him. “I’m a prancing suit for you mooks. Ideal _isn’t_ the word I’d use,” he says.

“Prancing actually is not encouraged or advised,” Castiel says. 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Advise all you want. No screw that. I’m here but I don’t have to play along.”

“You made that clear earlier. I don’t care. Just fake it.” 

“Why?” Dean shrugs, his emotional state about this entire show reduced to one simple gesture. He has no real reason to care. In fact, doing it his way will piss off Sam and he’s always ready to do that. It makes him laugh. 

Castiel looks at him. “Aside from being a decent human being?” 

Dean twists his face like “yeah right.” He has absolutely no feelings of humanity in this situation. This guy has been talking about jeans and sweaters all morning. He’s the one who is running low on humanity. 

Castiel closes the distance between them in a blur, backing Dean against the hallway wall. “I have a flight home waiting for me as soon as we finish here. Until then, I have to deal with an embarrassing one-night stand. An ex-boyfriend slash co-host who is dating again even though we only broke up two months ago. After two years. A hangover. And you.” The dark timbre of his voice resonates like thunder. “I’m not having a good day,” he finishes needlessly. 

Dean doesn’t care about Castiel and his little problems—he met the guy an hour ago so he shouldn’t have to care. How easy would it be to do the asshole thing and lash out? Would that make him feel better? Probably. However, as his eyes linger on Castiel, he recognizes the honesty on his face. Pain mixed with sadness. It hits Dean with an unexpected kick in the stomach. He shouldn’t care, and he tells himself to get a grip. It’s ludicrous when Sam guilt trips him. It’s even more ludicrous when a stranger does it to him. He just can’t be a jerk with Castiel looking at him like this. 

“Fine," he grits out.

“Thank you.” Castiel takes a breath, easing the silence. “I appreciate that,” he says and starts to walk past him.

A horrific thought pops into Dean's head right as he does. “No shorts,” he threatens with a finger in Castiel’s face.

“But the perfect pair of—”

“No shorts!”

Castiel raises him. “Turtle necks," he says. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay. No pink.” 

Castiel opens his mouth, and Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. He nods but a slow, somewhat worrisome, smile forms on his lips. “None of these stupid t-shirts. For two days.” He looks rightly triumphant when Dean whimpers. 

“All right, but I get to keep my beard.” 

“No.” Castiel laughs and pats Dean on the back before walking away for real this time. 

“It’s my face!” Dean calls after him. “I like the beard!” Everyone likes the beard especially chicks. 

Castiel pauses at the top of the staircase. “Well, I don’t.”

“Man, I don’t even know you." Dean shakes his head. Definitely not enough for Castiel to be talking about his facial hair. He doesn’t even listen to his mother on the subject. 

“I told you everything.” The smile only reaches Castiel's eyes for a second, and then his mouth falls flat as if he just heard himself. 

Dean is fine with it, if only for purely selfish reasons. He doesn’t care much about Castiel’s problems, but at least now, he knows for certain there is someone here who’d rather be anywhere else even more than him. It makes him feel better. 

Castiel is already gone, though, when Dean looks back. “My beard is awesome,” he pouts, reaching up to stroke his chin.

*****

Ian is waiting at the limo when Castiel stumbles outside. The grin on his face grows wider and wider as Castiel approaches until by the time the driver opens the passenger door Ian looks like he's about to burst. 

Ignoring him, Castiel climbs inside without even a hello. He wastes no time in digging through the fridge situated in the middle of the passenger cabin and finds what he’s looking for in a bottle of Evian. He places the bottle against his forehead and slumps into the seat cushion with a sigh of relief. The cold plastic soothes his hot skin, and he isn’t leaving this spot for the rest of the day.

As he slips into the opposite seat, Ian directs the driver on their next destination. When he's finished, he takes Castiel’s water bottle away. Castiel fights back with only a meek cry, and he makes a note to remember that when he renegotiates his contract next year a clause should be added about Ian staying three hundred feet away from him at all times. 

“Dean's gorgeous, isn’t he?” Ian’s grin is back, bigger and goofier. “What he lacks in style he makes up for with those eyes—”

“You could’ve warned me before you sent me in there!” Castiel rubs at the tension in his temple. He isn’t in the mood to discuss Dean Winchester, but he can't deny the truth. “I stopped functioning for a second.”

Ian snorts. “And miss the dazed look on your face when you came out? No way.” 

Castiel tells himself that he's still hungover and any dazed looks were a simply a result of the sun hurting his eyes, but he knows that probably isn't true. In less than an hour, Dean dug his way under Castiel's skin, enough that Julian walked up to him afterwards and suggested they take the intensity down a couple notches. In trying to make nice, Castiel only made it worse. Stupid him, he told Dean the one thing he's been desperately hiding for months. He is a mess. All he can hope for is that Dean keeps the story to himself. 

“If it’s any help, I literally tripped on my own two feet when he walked into the room. Cas, I am begging you. Find that boy some decent clothes because I intend to marry him one day," Ian says dreamily.

Marry him? Castiel knows Ian is kidding, but the idea of Dean Winchester marrying Ian, marrying anyone, amuses him enough that he laughs for the first time in what seems like weeks. He is still laughing when Ian presses a manila folder into his chest. 

“Look at that! He’s doesn't even date. Gimme a few hours, and I could show him what he’s missing.” Ian lewdly runs his tongue over his lips.

Castiel shakes his head without looking up. Every episode they receive a set of show notes before they leave on location. It helps them become acquainted with the guests prior to filming so they know what to expect. He likes to have an idea of what type of clothes he’ll choose for each person, things like that. 

However, he knows as he reads through the copy of Dean’s profile that he hasn't seen it before, and he wonders what pile in his office it’s sitting in right now. Once Ethan moved out, he didn't do much work. Now, he regrets not being forewarned of how much of a project awaited him in Lawrence. At the very least, he would’ve brought along a roll of duct tape to tape Dean’s mouth shut. 

He finishes reading and then shuts the folder, tossing it aside. He presses a finger against the pain above his brow. Dean's twenty-eight years old, and he has never been in love. The application didn’t say that explicitly, but his story is easy enough to piece together. 

For a second, he envies Dean, thinking his life has to be easier. Sure, it's a life without relationships or love, but what Dean has instead is freedom and sex. That's the life Castiel wants. Too bad reckless doesn't suit him. He shudders at the thought of last night. If that life is so much better, then why does he still feel so cheap and sleazy? So empty? So lonely? 

Is that how Dean feels? 

Maybe Ian’s right. He needs to face today head on. Step one? No more alcohol. Step two? He’s fixing Dean Winchester. Some way. Some how. He is certain Dean needs help. He's all alone in that stupid man-cave of his. What kind of life is that? Step three, he needs to get over Ethan once and for all. Even though he's ready to do it, he still isn’t ready to think about how. One step at a time…

“He told me he’d shave,” Castiel says. “The sooner the beard goes, the better.” He doesn’t think he can bear that ugly thing for the entire weekend. 

Ian is in the middle of typing out a text message on his smartphone. He looks up with a raised eyebrow. “You actually got him to agree to that? I spent ten minutes arguing with him over a mall. A mall. You spend five seconds with the guy and he’s suddenly agreeing to things?”

“No more t-shirts either,” Castiel answers with a yawn. He still needs that nap. 

“That’s impressive.” Ian purses his lips together, and then he knocks on the driver's window over his shoulder. “Change of plans. Take us to Salon Lucia instead.”

Castiel's heart quickens in his chest, those three steps flying right out of his head. His schedule says he isn’t needed until the shopping trip which is hours from now. He planned to squirrel away the rest of the morning burrowed in blankets. “No, I’m going back to my hotel," he says. 

"Caaas," Ian whines. “I know Ethan's gonna be there, but if Dean’s comfortable with you, I want you there too. To calm him down or whatever. He’s hot, but he’s very loud if you hadn't noticed.” 

This is what Castiel gets for being good at his job. The bile rises in his throat when the driver veers off the street and the limo whips around in the opposite direction. “I don’t think comfortable is the right word,” he insists. 

“Whatever we’re calling it, we’re here to help him. That’s the point of all this, remember?”

Truth be told, the network executives were counting on major ratings this upcoming season from fans tuning in to watch a miserable Ethan and Castiel in the midst of a breakup, and the thought makes him even sicker. Their relationship, working together, dating, breaking up, it was a juicy story that their fans ate up. 

He sighs, wishing there was a way out of this, but there isn't. Blowing off a filming day would only create gossip, and the tabloids would be all over him as a result. He was truly stuck here with Julian, with Ethan, with Dean, with all of it. The entire giant mess. 

"I highly doubt Dean Winchester will do anything I say," Cas sighs. 

Ian smiles a mischievous grin. “Probably not. But it’s gonna be damn good TV watching you try.” 

*****

A pushy red head ushers Dean into the Salon Lucia waiting area and forces him to sit in an uncomfortable egg-shaped chair. The chick says she’ll be back to get him after the crew’s done setting up, and her tone indicates he better be right here when she returns or there will be trouble. 

Screw trouble. Screw playing along. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want a hair cut. He doesn’t want to shave. He doesn’t want new clothes, and quite frankly, the bright lights in this place are making him nervous. Shit he’s a grown man! He doesn’t have to do anything these people say. Sam can deal with Jessica, and in a few years, Dean is positive she’ll get over this. That’s it! He’s done! Hasta la vista! His mind is already on the breakfast menu at the diner down the street. He is eating as much bacon and pancakes as it takes to wash the stench of the morning off him. 

He is halfway out of his chair when something catches his eye causing him to freeze. There's a pile of magazines stacked on the white coffee table in front of him, and he takes the one from the top and holds it up to his face. 

On the glossy cover, there’s a picture of two guys, and one of them is Castiel. They are at some fancy event because there’s a row of photographers behind them and a red carpet and both are wearing formal black suits and ties. Castiel looks different. The guy Dean met is shorter, not nearly as put together, or as smiley, if that’s even the right word. The real jarring part is the headline written across the bottom. In bold yellow type, it says, “IT’S OVER!” 

No wonder the guy was losing it. His suffering is apparently entertainment. Dean stares at the photo a moment longer until he’s interrupted. 

“Read anything good?” A voice calls out from behind him. Dean looks around to find the other blond-haired guy in the photo smiling at him. Ethan Kelly looks exactly like his picture. Tall and good-looking like an actual movie star. He is amused by Dean’s reading choice, but as he moves nearer, there’s an obvious apprehension in his eyes. 

Embarrassed at being caught, Dean drops the gossip rag and buries his hands in his pockets. Pretending that didn’t happen seems like the best idea. “So when do we get this show on the road?” he asks. “I was thinking a couple inches off the top.”

Ethan chuckles. “Sit tight,” he says. “We’re waiting on some technical stuff.” He takes a seat on the white leather couch opposite him. “It shouldn’t be too long." He pulls the magazine Dean was reading into his lap and flips through a few pages. 

Dean sits and leans back. “Right.” 

“Are you having a nice time?” Ethan gives the page of the magazine flip and then peeks an eye up at Dean for an answer. 

Dean guesses Ethan is attempting to be funny because anything else and he’d question the guy’s sanity. Was he having a nice time? There is genuine pain on his face. “No,” he answers. “I’m not. I’m definitely not.”

But Ethan’s good mood remains undeterred. “You don’t really seem like a makeover type of guy. Just look at it this way, you get to keep all the clothes.”

Dean is tired of people telling him how to look at it. Jessica. Sam. His mom. Everyone was telling him this experience would be good for him, and he’s sick of it. He looks at the floor, ready to scream until someone hears him and lets him go back home. “Clothes aren’t really my thing,” he says.

Ethan eyes Dean’s chest and then smirks to himself. “Castiel probably flipped out when he saw you. I’m sure he hates that shirt.”

The way Ethan mentions Castiel’s name so casually surprises Dean, but he doesn't let it show. “He said I look awful,” Dean admits.

“You do." 

“Is this like a thing with the two of you? Insulting guests?”

“Most guests are actually happy their friends did this for them or eventually they come around. You, on the other hand, you’re a bit of a handful, aren’t you?”

Before Dean can respond, the producer guy from earlier—Julian, he thinks was his name—pokes his head around the corner. “Castiel will be here in thirty minutes,” he announces. 

“Okay,” and “Fuck,” Ethan and Dean say at the same time. 

Ethan chuckles softly. “Julian, I’m going to get Dean set-up at one of the chairs. Would you mind finding someone to help me?” Julian nods at the request before stomping off. “Was that two inches off the top, you said?” he asks as he stands up.

Dean touches his hair with a frown. "Actually—" 

“Trust me, this is the easy part,” Ethan promises. “Cas is going to make you try on everything in the store. In the entire mall if there's time.”

“Everything?” Dean asks as his stomach drops.

“He is meticulous." A fond look passes over Ethan's face before he remembers Dean's standing beside him. "If you let it, today could change your life," he says. 

Dean questions if Ethan's even talking to him, and if he is, does the guy sound like an episode of _Oprah_ on purpose? What is it with these Hollywood people? They are all loony. All he can do is put on a patronizing smile and say, "Oh, I'm lookin' forward to it." He rolls his eyes at the ceiling and follows behind Julian, anything to get away from Dr. Phil back there. 

He rounds the corner and sees more of the crew setting up equipment. One of them spots him, and before he knows it, he's being attacked by a wireless microphone and being forced to sit once again. 

Change his life? 

It’s just new clothes and a haircut and one date. In his mind, none of it seems that life-changing. However, the longer the morning wears on, the more everyone continues to fret and fuss over him. They whiz around with their cameras and lights and hair dye and ask him question after question until he's tired of hearing himself talk, until he has nothing left to say. When he's finally left in peace and quiet, he can't help but wonder what the hell he's gotten himself into. 

*****

By eleven o'clock, the crew of _Boys Helping Boys_ has taken over Salon Lucia, an upscale salon nestled in the heart of Lawrence. Inside, everything is very white and clean and wordless techno music plays loudly overhead. It's a little slice of Beverly Hills, or what someone's assumed is Beverly Hills, in Kansas, and Castiel imagines the clientele list is full of suburbanites that carry hundred dollar handbags and watch too much _Sex In the City._ In fact, a group of them have gathered outside, eagerly awaiting their chance to spot a few celebrities. Lucky for Castiel, their security team has spent the afternoon keeping the fans outside. From his position near the glass doors, a dozen of these women wave at him, grinning from ear to ear. 

He waves back with a mild smile then meanders towards the back of the spacious salon until he finds the bulk of the filming crew swarming one of the hair stations. It’s the hair portion of the show, and in Dean Winchester’s case that means a haircut, a dye-job, and a shave. 

Dean looks thoroughly displeased as he stares into the large mirror with lips cinched together in a thin line. His head is full of foil and hair dye probably for the first time in his entire life. Ethan is nearby talking into the camera, looking charming and perfect as he wittily explains what he’s done to Dean’s hair for the audience. 

Castiel doesn't look but instead focuses his eyes on the back of Dean’s head, amused by the sight as he moves closer. He can't help but enjoy this. The man was truly awful this morning. “I think it’s a good look. Really," he says. 

Dean slumps further in his chair. “Shut the hell up.”

Castiel catches the back and rotates the chair towards him, away from the mirror. He crosses his arms over himself with a genuine smile, resisting the urge to play with the foil in Dean’s hair, knowing that would piss him off. He is here to calm Dean down, not instigate. "There’s no possible way you could look worse than you did before,” he offers.

“Oh thanks!" Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re like the Mister Miyagi of comforting thoughts.”

“You’re unhappy.” 

“Cas, I’ve got foil in my fucking hair.”

“Ethan knows what he’s doing," Castiel reassures him, but Dean doesn’t look that comforted.

“Trust me you can't look worse," a voice says. 

When Ethan walks up, Castiel doesn't know what to do. The only thing safe that he trusts himself to look at without losing it is Dean. Pretty eyes, pretty eyes, pretty eyes, he thinks, praying an answer to his problems rests somewhere in those emerald orbs. 

Dean watches him with a blank look. "So how much longer?” he asks after a dead silence, simply pointing at his head. 

“You should stop worrying,” Ethan says. He pauses and shifts like he wants to turn, but he instead puts his back to them both. “Castiel.” He carefully rearranges the pairs of scissors laying on the station counter when he says his name. 

Castiel gnaws at his bottom lip, wanting to run away, as Dean shakes his head at him with a mocking smirk. He’s thinking it too. He's pathetic. “Ethan, it’s nice to see you," he manages, mostly to prove to Dean he isn't completely hopeless. 

“Yeah.” Ethan glances around with a toothy smile. “It’s been a long time. Two months.” 

Has it been two months? The potential responses shuffle through his head. You look nice. It’s good to see you. I love you. He steels himself against groveling though. “Dean agrees this has to go," he chuckles, not thinking as he rubs the back of his hand against the side of Dean’s face. Coarse hairs itch against his skin and he smiles.

Dean glares up at him, but the tension in his jaw and the hard swallow of his throat shows he wants to shove Castiel's hand away, pride the only thing preventing him from doing it. 

“Thank God!” Ethan exclaims.

“I know.” 

“Uh, here. I’m right here." Dean shoves his hand away then, giving Castiel a look, daring him to try that again.

Castiel just wants to hug Dean for being there to act as a buffer. He can glare all he wants. 

“You’re cranky,” Ethan jokes and picks up a towel, flipping it over Dean’s shoulder, pumping the chair brake with his foot until it's the right height. “If you relaxed a little, you might have fun.”

“Unlikely. Dean isn’t fan,” Castiel says with a slight eye roll. 

“Oh? Is that so?” Ethan tucks the towel securely behind Dean with a smirk. He reaches for a small bowl of prepared shaving cream that is sitting on the counter. “I think by tomorrow you’ll be convinced otherwise.” 

“Doubtful,” Dean replies. His eyes flicker nervously to the bowl. 

Before Dean can get out a word of protest out, Ethan plops the cream on his face in big dollops with a shaving brush. “You’re going to look great and get a nice a girl," Ethan says. 

It's just like Ethan to attempt to win Dean over with kind words and a charming smile. Castiel isn't so masochistic nor is he a charmer. After spending all morning with Dean, he knows winning him over wasn't happening without some type of bribe. As he watches Ethan work, he thinks through the possibilities. Money? Maybe. Dean's already getting his fifteen minutes of fame from the show. Something tells Castiel though a hunting shop owner from Kansas probably doesn’t think twice about the hills of Hollywood. The only thing that could legitimately work is finding and paying for a harem of horny women to follow Dean around for a week, and the thought, a jest even in his head, immediately rubs him the wrong way so he lets the whole thing go.

“Stay still,” Ethan says then, his eyes focused on a patch of skin on Dean’s cheek as he scrapes the straight razor across. 

At Ethan’s command, Castiel closes his eyes, thoughts drifting off to some lazy morning passed. He’s been in Dean’s position before many times, but Ethan and Castiel’s forays into the art of shaving always ended messily and with more tongue than he suspects Dean would like. Suddenly, he's so jealous of Dean he can hardly stand it. He swallows down, and the itchy straggle of his throat sounds loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. 

No one is paying him any attention, except Ethan, who happens to glance up as he reaches to dunk the razor in a bowl of water. His eyes land on Castiel, halfway at first then fully after he sees Castiel staring at him. A question forms on his lips, but then there's recognition of the arousal that must be on Castiel's face. 

Castiel doesn't even excuse himself as he walks away. Blindly, he finds a hallway and takes turn after turn until he comes to a door leading into a small storage closet. The intermingling smell of shampoo and chemicals fill the room, but the air is less suffocating here. After telling himself to calm down to no avail, he reaches into his pocket for his cellphone and punches in a number.

“Ian?” 

“Castiel? Aren’t you shooting?” Ian’s voice comes back surprised. “What happened?” 

“Nothing’s happened." Castiel paces the floor even though he can’t see anything and hasn’t bothered to look for a light switch. “I just…just…Ian. Tell me sleeping with Ethan is a bad idea. Tell me it’s the worst idea I’ve ever had. Tell me now.”

“Oh my God, what’d Ethan say?” Ian asks too happily like a sap clutching a hand over his heart.

“That’s so unbelievably unhelpful," Castiel mutters. 

“Sorry.” Ian clears his throat. “I mean, listen to me. Listen to me right now. Do not sleep with Ethan Kelly.” 

“Do not sleep with Ethan Kelly,” Castiel repeats, hoping his brain hears him. 

“Oh my God,” Ian groans into the phone as if Castiel’s already done it. “You can’t do this.” 

“Well, Ian, it’s not like I don’t have any willpower.” 

“When it comes to Ethan, Cas, no you don’t have any,” Ian says without missing a beat. 

“What?” Castiel yells into the phone. 

“You’ve been drunk for two months trying to get over him. You’ve seen him what? For two minutes?" There's an increase of disapproval in Ian's voice. "Two minutes, and you’ve already forgotten how miserable you’ve been lately. So…”

Ian is right. Why is Ian always right? Ethan is a drug. A painfully attractive drug that Castiel wants to sleep with because he hasn’t gotten to do so for two months. Two extremely long months. He's suddenly a little scared of himself and of the thoughts in his head. “Well, what do I do? Tell me what I should do.” 

“I don’t know. I think you need to figure this out on your own,” Ian says. 

“I can’t do—” Castiel starts to say, but he is interrupted when the light bulb overhead pops on, flooding the closet with a harsh yellow light. “Ethan?” 

“Never mind doing this on your own. Do not sleep with Ethan Kelly! Cas—” 

Castiel doesn’t hear the rest of Ian's warning because he presses the end call button and shoves his cellphone back into his pocket. 

“I just wanted…” Ethan moves to shut the door behind him. Castiel’s throat closes when he hears it click shut. Trapped. He's trapped. “I just. We have a minute, and I wanted to say that it’s good to see you."

“Yeah.” Castiel nods, his head working on its own. “It’s good to see you too.” 

This is going to happen, Castiel thinks, just as it does. And he is powerless, so powerless that a shot of anger washes over him. He fists the sleeve of Ethan's shirt, wrenching the fabric between his fingers, wishing he was strong enough to walk away, but it's as though he's stuck in quicksand, too scared to climb out. He pushes their mouths together, thinking he needs to ask Ethan about Leslie or to tell him he's seen other people too, but it's okay they can fix it.

He groans a miserable noise at war with himself. Part of him happy, as he clasps the steadiness of Ethan's face in his hands, tests his memory against familiar skin, hugs his arms tight around him to bask in the fresh lemony smell that's always reminded him of summer, forcing their bodies to be one again. Still, in the back of his mind, a nagging voice pleads for him stop. For him to admit the truth. 

Ethan angles out of Castiel's hard grip, only to pull him close again, gentler this time, caressing the side of his neck, holding him to his chest. He turns to kiss their mouths together. It's soft, the taste of him still honey sweet. 

Castiel returns the kiss eagerly, chasing old memories with his tongue, finding and reliving them over and over, as everything falls back into place. Palms dig into his hips, as Ethan dances them backwards into the metal shelves against the wall, and the clatter of shampoo bottles and brushes falling onto the floor rings out. 

This is the stupidest thing he could have done today, but he can't help himself. He brushes his fingers through soft hair and drops his head backwards on the shelf as Ethan kisses his neck, mapping out the most sensitive spots with warm lips. 

“I missed you,” he whimpers. It’s so easy to lose himself in these kisses, in the comfortable way they know each other. Know where their hands fit, where their mouths go, what his knees do when Ethan presses a hand against his pants to undo his fly, undoing with it all confidence this can still stop. 

His pants are pushed down barely past the straight lines of his hips. He wants to beg, but his mind is somewhere off in the clouds, everything muddled and incoherent. He fumbles for a grasp on the wall to hold himself up, ready but dreading the moment this is over, when the emptiness will come back. 

“Ethan…” he breathes.

Fingers trail down his skin, down the heat of his stomach, down his open pants and around his cock, and he is lost. His entire body aches for more, enough that his breathing turns loud, until he realizes Ethan's hand hasn't moved, and he lifts his head.

The unspoken words in Ethan's eyes tear into him. Is this an old habit? Is this real need raging through them? Or is this his head playing tricks on him? Are they running after a chance that played out a long time ago? 

Something is being ripped away and Castiel is desperately holding on. He nods, forgetting the questions and the answers, reassuring Ethan that he wants this. He wants this, he wants this, he wants this. Ethan tightens his hold and he's about to pump his fist down, a move that'll render Castiel useless and five minutes from now he'll come with Ethan wrapped around him once more. Too bad it doesn't happen. 

They both freeze at the sound of someone clearing their throat with a gasp. 

Castiel slowly moves his head over Ethan’s shoulder, and the sight he's met with is an icy bucket of water dumped over his head, freezing all lust, draining him instantly. Of all people, why him? A crazed fan would've been better than him. A tabloid photographer with a camera and a telephoto lens but not him. Not him. Not Dean Winchester. 

Red-faced and notably also bare-faced, Dean casts his eyes at the floor away from the obscene display in front of him, probably wishing it hadn't been him either. "I thought you know. Foil," he says in a panic. 

Eyes wide with alarm, Ethan flushes with embarrassment at being caught so indecent, but he removes his hand as inconspicuously as possible. Then, he leaves without saying anything, not even goodbye. 

Castiel frowns. If he wasn’t trying to shove himself neatly back into his underpants he would’ve run after Ethan, lesson learned or not. “Sorry you saw that,” he says to Dean, desperate to make himself presentable again. 

“Unfortunate, yeah,” Dean responds, still gaping in the doorway. 

Castiel knows, if Dean could, he would be gouging his eyes out right about now. Two guys making out? Straight guys are never okay with that image in Castiel's experience, not live and in person four feet from them. Unless you’re invited, it’s uncomfortable at anytime, two guys or not, he imagines. “I’m sorry," he says again. 

Dean is staring at Castiel as if he’s an exhibit in a zoo. “Yeah, I got that part already."

It's a small victory when Castiel gets his zipper back up and his pants buttoned. He's ready to run out of this shrinking closet, far far away from Dean Winchester and his pretty judging eyes and this entire nightmare, when Dean asks, "Are you sure that this is a good idea?” 

“Excuse me?” Castiel tilts his head. Were they really going to talk about this? 

The determination on Dean's face said they were. “I’m saying you were practically mourning the guy earlier enough to tell me everything. Now you’re in a closet with him. Seems pretty cracked," he says in outright disapproval, never mind that he only met Castiel this morning. He appears not to care that he’s out of line.

“Are you serious?” Castiel raises an eyebrow. Yes, he told Dean things, things he wishes he hadn’t now, but this isn’t any of his business. “I was going to do it. Gladly. Since you’re interested.” 

Dean backs down, flinching. “I saw.” 

How long was Dean there in the first place? What did he see? How humiliated should Castiel be right now? He remembers whimpering the entire time Ethan was touching him and deep down he knows Dean saw it. He deserves this for ever thinking having one last hurrah with Ethan was a good idea. Yeah, great idea. Here he is, standing in front of Dean, wrung out and empty like the weakest thing to ever exist. 

“I’m sorry. Look. This is embarrassing and unprofessional. I’d appreciate it more than you know if we could just forget it.” He does Dean the favor of looking him in the eye when he says this. 

All he can do is watch, though, as Dean exits the room muttering, “it’s forgotten” over his shoulder, even though it's apparent what happened is anything but forgotten. 

He waits there for a long time, hiding, letting the quiet sink back over the closet, hoping the last few minutes were a dream and he didn't almost sleep with his ex-boyfriend. That Dean Winchester didn't catch him at it and, weirdly enough, lecture him on keeping it in his pants. Dean, the overcompensating womanizer, lecturing _him._

His heart rate returns to normal, and the one thing he decides for sure is Ian will be happy to find out he was right. Again.

*****

”So what are Ethan Kelly and Castiel Adams like?” Sam asks. 

His brother Sam has stopped by the salon to “check on things.” However, Dean knows Sam really came by to point and laugh. The only thing keeping him from smacking Sam upside the head is that he’s thankful for any excuse to hang around outside away from the cameras. More importantly away from Castiel and Ethan, so of course, their names are the first things outta Sam’s mouth. “What?” he sputters. 

Sam gives him his best why-are-you-so-oblivious face. “The hosts of the show, Dean. What are they like?”

What are they like? They go at it in closets like messed up bunnies. That's what they're like. “Uh, I don’t know.” Dean shrugs his shoulders. “One likes clothes. One likes hair. Why do you want to know?” 

“Jess can’t wait to meet them tonight at the rehearsal dinner,” Sam says. “She’s like obsessed with the show.”

“I don’t know. They’re just guys.” 

Sam makes a _hmm_ sound.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What?” 

“No, I just…it was pretty big news when they broke up. It wasn’t that long ago. Just thought it’d be awkward or something.”

Big news? Dean recalls the magazine cover he saw this morning. Ethan and Castiel may be celebrities, but it’s still surprises him how much people care about their relationship. “Sam. Jess has turned you into a sap. A bigger sap than you already were.” 

“At least you don’t look homeless anymore. You have Jess and me to thank for that.” 

“You will pay for this.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Sam leans up against the side of the building. “It’s a couple of days, and it isn’t like they’re going to kill you. They are taking you to a mall.” 

“I don’t wanna go,” Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest. He hates malls and going to one with Castiel? The guy he saw getting jacked off? Yeah, he isn’t dying to spend an afternoon with him. Not at all. 

“Dean, you’re being a child.” 

“This entire thing is your fault!” 

“Excuse Jess for trying to do a nice thing for you.” 

“Sammy, she told these people I’m desolate and lonely!” 

“Dude okay, you’re not exactly desolate, but you’ve also never been with anyone for longer than two minutes. You’re twenty-eight years old. It is a little pathetic.” 

Pathetic? He isn’t pathetic. He gets plenty of women, and why does he need to date someone anyway? Why ruin his prime by getting serious? You know what happens when you get serious? You end up on the cover of a magazine with your heart bleeding and everyone laughing at you. “I’m playing the field,” he says. 

Sam shakes his head in disapproval. “You’re afraid to let someone in.” 

“What?”

“That’s something Jess mentioned, and you’ve gotta admit it makes sense. Mom and Jess think, we all think it’s time for you to grow up and settle down.” 

Dean suddenly has the horrific thought that his family spends quality time talking about him when he’s not around. That’s not cool. “So you guys sit around and talk about my sex life?” 

Sam smirks. “No. Sometimes we talk about your beard. By the way, your face looks nice.” 

“Fuck you!” 

“We want you to be happy,” Sam continues. 

“I’m happy! I date all the time." 

Sam doesn’t look convinced. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s time to date someone whose name you can actually remember the next day.” 

“I’ll have you know that _Patricia_ from last week was awesome. She was beyond flexible and a gold metal gymnastic in high school.” So there. He remembers people’s names. Now ask him Patricia’s hair color, and that’s a different story. 

Sam makes a face. “Dean, this isn’t a joke. Why can’t you admit that you have problems with intimacy?” 

Dean grimaces. His little brother has turned into a romantic sap, an annoying one, and he’s done listening to this. “Intimacy? Really?” He sighs. “Sam, this conversation is over.” He moves to open the door and head back into the salon. Awkwardness with Castiel be damned.

“We’re right!” Sam yells after him. “You’re scared of getting too close to people!” 

Dean shoots the bird over his shoulder when he hears Sam start to laugh. 

*****

“We’re moving locations.” 

Julian startles Castiel out of his trance. He hopes wherever Dean disappeared to, he does them both a favor and stays there. He can only deal with one epic embarrassment at a time, and he's certain that the Dean situation is several million times worse than Ethan knowing he's not completely over him. “Whenever we’re ready,” he says distracted by his own thoughts. “I’m ready too.” 

“Dillard’s agreed to let us film as long as we need. It’s not exactly high fashion, but it’ll have to do.”

“Great.” 

“What are you…?” Julian follows Castiel's gaze across the room to a group of people, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses on his nose. He turns back around with a look of delight. “Oh. Ethan.” 

Castiel jerks himself to attention and scolds himself for staring. He knows sleeping with Ethan isn't a good idea even if someone doesn’t walk in on them the next time. Still, was Ethan sad they were interrupted? He can't help wonder.

“Didn’t TMZ report you guys were over?” 

“Don’t be a jerk." 

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. The two of you together was like watching paint dry. It was sad.” 

Castiel balls his hands together into two tight fists, and he's close to punching Julian in the face to make him shut up. “This coming from someone who will sleep with anything. Even me after I threw up on your shoes that night. I don’t need your advice so leave me alone.”

“I’m not giving you advice, Castiel. I’m giving you facts. After two years of being Hollywood’s hot gay couple—" and he says _hot gay couple_ with a total disinterested roll of his eyes. 

"It was obvious you were bored. You broke up, and you need to get over it. The limo leaves in fifteen minutes so make sure Dean Winchester is in it. He’s been complaining all morning, but Ian says he’ll listen to you," Julian finishes and then stomps away like he's got better things to do than worry about petty relationship problems. 

Now the lectures were coming from Julian too? Fabulous. His entire stomach is in knots, and he wishes this day was already over. Because when the production assistant from this morning runs up to him and asks with panic in her eyes if he's seen their missing guest, he knows things are about to get worse. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Food!” Dean reaches into the limo's mini-fridge and pulls out a couple of candy bars. He shoves one into his jacket pocket for later. How awesome is it to have a fridge in your car? He needs to look into getting one of these for his Impala—a ‘67 Chevy that stole his heart when he was sixteen. Fix the ‘ole girl up. Sad as it is, this limo ride might be the best part of his day so far. It doesn’t even matter that he’s on the way to a damn mall with Castiel sitting in the seat across from him. The first five minutes of this ride have been awkward to say the least since it’s very hard for him not to keep picturing Castiel and Ethan in flagrante.

“Are you okay?” Castiel watches with interest as Dean tears into the wrapper. 

“I’m great, man." Dean chomps off a big bite of the candy bar. He nods his head in approval and smooths a hand over the leather seat. He picks up the remote Velcro-ed to the arm rest beside him and punches a few buttons until the small TV attached to the ceiling clicks on. A movie that he doesn’t recognize begins to play. With a smile, he tosses the remote aside and takes another bite. 

“So to pacify you this morning all I needed was candy and a TV?” Castiel asks. 

“No, I’m still mad.” Dean points his half-eaten candy bar at Castiel's head. “I’m just happy about the candy.” 

“And the TV?” 

Dean licks his lips free of chocolate with his attention concentrated on the screen. “Uh huh." 

Castiel only chuckles. 

“What?” Dean asks with his mouth full. 

“It's just this morning when I met you I felt like I had you figured out. And now…” Castiel gestures a hand at Dean. “I’m sure of it.”

Dean swallows. “You’re sure of it?”

“I meet many people with this job.”

Dean knows somewhere in there is an insult, and his blood pressure is already up. Something about Castiel just gets to him. “Okay. And?” 

Castiel gives Dean a smile. “Don’t get angry. I want to help you. You were picked to come on this show not just for new clothes. You do realize that right?” 

Dean sighs. God this day keeps getting worse and worse. “Is this like the part of the episode where I cry on your shoulder?” he asks.

“There aren't any cameras around." 

“Yeah, but you’re trying to get me say I’m lonely. I’m not lonely.”

“Dean, I’m sure you have no trouble picking up women, but your application said that you’ve never been in a serious relationship.”

Unbelievable! Castiel is acting as if he knows him because of some piece of paper that supposedly details his love life. A piece of paper he didn’t even fill out. “It’s my choice,” he says more defensive than he wants to be. 

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks.

“I think I’ll pass on the relationship advice from you.” Not that Dean needs advice on the subject from anyone, but from what he can see, Castiel isn’t exactly a success story. 

Castiel sighs softly. “This isn’t advice. Yes, you can spend the rest of your life without ever really being with someone. No one can stop you, but one day I’m sure you’ll regret it.” 

Dean snaps his jaw tight and glares out the window. He likes his life. He likes sex, booze, and women. His way of doing things gets him all three without the hassle of emotions. Emotions only complicate things, and quite frankly, relationships never last so there’s no point in getting attached. 

“I won’t,” he says, but there’s an unfamiliar pang in the pit of his stomach. It’s the way Castiel looks at him when he turns back. The guy feels sorry for him. For him. The guy with his heart broken is still looking at Dean like he has this whole relationship thing entirely wrong.

“Okay…” Castiel says slowly. “That doesn’t mean we can’t talk.” 

“Talk about my feelings? Thanks, I’ll pass.” 

“You can talk about whatever you want,” Castiel says with a shrug. "But don’t misunderstand. The point of this show is to help people. It might not be tonight but the right person is out there, Dean.” 

“I’m not looking for anyone,” Dean answers as confidently as possible. 

“You’re not?” 

“No! For fuck’s sake already," he says. This has truly become too much. 

“Why not?” Castiel asks as if he thinks Dean’s being ridiculous.

“Just. Because,” Dean says, realizing that he doesn’t have a reason. He’s never had to think about it until today. 

Castiel sighs again. “That’s sad," he says. 

“Sad is catching you hooking up with Ethan Kelly in a closet. That's sad,” Dean fires back. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to change the subject or trying to hurt Castiel, but he doesn’t feel any better after he says it. 

Either way, Castiel is unfazed. “You’re not convincing me that I’m wrong about you," he says. Then he looks at Dean the same way he did this morning, straight through him, analyzing him. 

Dean shifts in his seat extremely uncomfortable. It feels like all his thoughts are on display, and Castiel is flipping through the pages at will. He doesn’t want him to know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t want him to know that what he’s saying might be starting to scratch some inner crevice of his brain. That it might be making sense. 

“Maybe you’re not wrong,” is all he can think to say. 

Castiel doesn’t respond though. 

Dean knows it's his choice to continue the conversation, but he can't bring himself to do it, even if in his head he doesn’t sound as certain as he did this morning. Even if a tiny piece of him thinks maybe he should, maybe wants to actually.

The rest of the trip passes in complete silence. 

It is the longest twenty minutes of his life as he tries to shake the feeling that Castiel might know him better than anyone he's ever met. Sam possibly being the only exception, but his brother does have the luxury of being someone he’s known longer than five freaking seconds. 

That's when Dean begins to think, with things going the way they are with Castiel, an unwanted date is only the least of his troubles. 

*****

Castiel holds the pen poised eagerly over a fresh notepad. “What size do you wear?” he asks. 

Dean is in the middle of the dressing area, surrounded by the camera crew and eight floor-length mirrors and a handful of anxious retail employees sent to make the day a smooth one. At the question, Dean reaches for his shirt collar. He twists it around his neck until he can see the label. "Large," he reads. 

Castiel sighs as he hands off the pen and paper to the attendant beside him. He retrieves the tape measure he keeps in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"You actually carry that around?" Dean asks with a bemused smirk. 

Castiel allows one end of the tape measure to fall to the floor. "For emergencies," he answers. "Would you mind?" 

Dean appears confused until Castiel gestures at the raised modeling platform behind them. "You've gotta be kidding!” He stomps up the step and turns around to glare at Castiel with both hands on his hips. "Is this necessary?" 

"No." Castiel follows Dean onto the platform. "I wanted to see where we stood on you taking directions. You did very good." 

Dean opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, fish-faced, as he searches for a comeback. 

Castiel cuts in first, "I need your measurements." 

"Whatever," Dean mutters. 

Working with Dean is like working with a grouchy toddler, nothing but mood swings and temper tantrums. Castiel takes the end of his tape and tugs at Dean's arms until he gives in and holds them angrily by his sides. He wraps one end around Dean's torso by reaching behind him, almost in a hug, so he can bring the ends together. 

"Forty three and a quarter inches," he dictates to the attendant now holding the paper. He lets the tape fall away and repositions it around Dean's waist, along his hips, not to high or to low. He has it slung in the perfect spot when the muscles of Dean’s stomach twitch under his hands. 

"Relax," he urges in a quiet voice without lifting his head like a surgeon in the middle of an operation. "Thirty seven.” 

Dean clears the back of his throat. He follows every one of Castiel’s movements with alert eyes, lifting his arms from his body, this time without being told, so Castiel can measure around his bicep, one then the other. He measures the length of Dean's arm, from his shoulder to the tip of his index finger. Around his wrists just because. Around the thick muscles of his thighs. Gets on his knees to measure down each bowed leg, outside then in. He measures and memorizes until Dean is nothing but a list of numbers. 

With a smile, Castiel releases the tape and calls out the last measurement even though each one is committed to his memory. He could mold a copy Dean out of clay if he needed to, and that doesn't sound like a bad idea, at least that one wouldn't be capable of speech. On paper Dean is perfect, page one of a textbook practically, and he hasn't looked forward to dressing someone this much in a long time. 

He hangs the measuring tape around his neck when he’s finished. "Thank you," he says.

Dean stares at him with the expression of someone that was violated against their will and is still deciding if it was a good experience or a bad one, which means for once, it appears he doesn’t have anything sarcastic to say. 

Castiel seizes the unexpected moment of silence. “Tell me the first thing you notice about a woman.”

“What?” Dean asks with a dumb look on his face, not understanding. 

Castiel discretely angles his head at the camera, which has been filming them this entire time. He's supposed to ask Dean questions that will endear him to the audience, make them care whether he finds his date or not, but so far today, between the tense moments and the fighting, there hasn’t been much of that.

Dean tosses a look at the camera as though he forgot it was even there. “Right.” Whatever ease he was feeling disappears from his face and is replaced with the defiant look Castiel’s seen all morning. “Can I say big boobs on TV?” He flashes a cheesy grin. 

Castiel deflates. “Yes,” he says. “But I’d like the truth.”

“That is the truth.”

Anger flares hot in Castiel’s belly. He's never meet anyone that could rile him up this way, and he isn't sure what to do with Dean besides strangle him. “How are you this difficult?”

“It’s a gift.” 

“More like a curse.”

“All right, Know-It-All, then what’s the first thing you notice? About a guy.”

Dean hasn't shown much interest in what Castiel thinks so he has to mull over his answer a second or two. Should he say personality or sense of humor? Maybe something deep in hope of convincing Dean a person’s physical attributes aren’t everything. Maybe he should say something simple like smile or height. However, he decides to tell Dean the truth. “His eyes,” he says. “That’s normally the first the thing.”

“Huh.” Dean squints, studying Castiel like he needs to test the theory out himself in order to believe him. 

“What?” Castiel asks, self-conscious all of the sudden. 

Dean shrugs. “I guess I thought you were gonna say clothes.” 

Scoffing, Castiel glances away with a bite-back smile. “That’s second."

Dean crosses his arms over his chest smugly. “Cas, are you being superficial right now?” 

“I’m being honest.”

“And…” Dean points a finger at him with a smirk. “…superficial.” 

“I never said attraction wasn’t important.”

“Fine. I’m attracted to boobs, the bigger the—”

Julian appears out of nowhere. “Guys, can we move on from the anatomy lesson? We’re on a schedule here.” 

"Of course," Castiel answers fast, embarrassed that neither of them noticed the room cleared out. 

He removes his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves. He looks over Dean again, from top to bottom, allowing the images to scroll through his head. “Tell them I want to see all his casual wear in greys and navy, and he’ll need a sports coat. Let’s start there,” he says to Julian, who agrees with a nod. “Dean, your only job is to stay here and not touch anything.” Julian and him are out of the room before Dean even has the chance to speak.

A half hour passes before Castiel is satisfied with his first outfit selection. His perfectionist personality is what helps him book and keep his celebrity clients. Today though, this perfectionism is working against him because he wants to see Dean in everything. He finally decides on a white blazer with a black dress shirt and a pair of dark jeans since he has to start somewhere if he plans to find the right outfit by the end of the day. 

He is still studying three different shirts, all of them white with white buttons, when a sudden hush falls over the room. It takes only a second to see the reason why. It's Dean. He just walked out of the dressing room wearing his new clothes and steps onto the runway of some Italian fashion show, or he looks like he could. Where there was once a mess of bad t-shirts and facial hair, there's now a sophisticated and handsome man. All put together, Dean could more than turn a few heads, he'd cause a few accidents. 

Pride swells in Castiel's chest at the sight of him. He knew Dean would look good, but he didn't know he would be breathtaking. He hooks the shirts back on the rack and goes over to him. He circles around Dean with slow steps, allowing his eyes to appraise every inch of him in a search of any imperfections. He finds none.

As good as he looks, though, Dean runs a finger under the collar of his shirt like it's too restrictive. "Well?" he asks when Castiel doesn't say anything. 

"You look…" Castiel’s words trail off because suddenly he can't think of the right ones. He shrugs his shoulders with a small smile. "The girl you meet tonight won't know what hit her." It's a lame thing to say, but that's the only thought in his head. 

Dean holds their gaze, a tiny grin on his lips. Castiel can see Dean is pleased by the compliment. "You really care about all this stuff, don't you?" he asks. 

Is this a breakthrough? Castiel should say something profound, something that'll make Dean believe everything he's been saying. However, now that the moment is here he draws another blank, and he has no idea how to proceed, how to talk to Dean now that he's listening. "It's my job to make you look as good as possible," he says. 

For some reason, Dean's eyes cloud over at that as though he was expecting a different answer. "So we're done then. I'll, uh, knock her dead." He removes his jacket, quick like he can't wait to take it off. 

Castiel has no clue what's wrong with Dean now, but he figures it best not to ask. The past half hour has been unexpectedly amiable, and he meant what he said. Making Dean look good is his job, and though he looks nice, ten times better than he did this morning, there's still more to do. 

"Wait." He catches Dean by the arm before he gets too far. "There are a few more things I'd like you to try on. It won't take long." 

The attendant was already there with the second outfit. Dean takes one look at it, and his shoulders slump. Shockingly enough, he accepts the clothes without much of a fight. He undoes the button on his collar and reenters the dressing room. 

"Meticulous," Cas hears Dean mutter as he flings the curtain closed behind him. 

*****

Any second Dean’s head is going to explode all over the floor. Blood and brain matter everywhere. Despite the being dead part, Dean prays this happens soon because he can’t take it anymore. He looks like a jackass. He's been in this dressing room for three hours. In a mall. For three goddamn hours. 

He takes another look at himself. He is alone for a brief moment after the cameras followed behind Castiel a minute ago. He has on too much clothes. Castiel insisted on the shirt. On the vest. On the jeans. On the tie. On the jacket. Jackets and seaming are very important to the guy. He keeps showing it to Dean whenever he brings him another jacket to try on like he’s going to one day understand why he should care. Fuck seaming is all Dean can say. He doesn’t care. He doesn't at all. 

Right then, Castiel rounds the corner holding _more_ clothes. The guy is way too happy. What happened to the broken mess from earlier? Bring back that guy. 

This happy version of Castiel is making it hard to concentrate. Touching Dean and asking him questions, all his attention honed in like a laser. Plus, it isn't helping that every few seconds he keeps imagining Castiel and Ethan making out in his head. How can he talk to Castiel with a straight face when he's picturing the guy's tongue in someone's mouth? 

“So this one now.” Castiel holds out the jacket. 

It is dark brown with more zippers and pockets than Dean thinks are necessary. 

“I think you’ll like it.” 

“Mmhm," Dean grunts because he’s already been told several times not to curse on camera by Julian the producer guy, who seems rather irritated about having to scold him on the subject over and over again. 

“Come on, come on,” Castiel says, walking behind Dean. He removes the jacket Dean’s currently wearing and holds up the new one. “It’s sophisticated.” 

Sophisticated, like a sophisticated little bitch. He rolls his eyes but fits his arms into the sleeves where Castiel is holding it out behind him. 

Castiel smoothes down the back with a heavy hand once Dean has it on and pulls down the bottom hem like he’s been doing all afternoon, like Dean’s too helpless to even put on clothes. 

“What do you think?” he asks, coming around the front. 

Dean sighs. It honestly doesn’t matter what he thinks. 

Castiel looks at him waiting for a reply, as he adjusts the collar on the jacket so that it’s pulled taut and straight around his neck. “How about it? What do you think?” He gives up and turns to one of the female attendants with them. “Hot, huh?” 

The young woman, who’s rather good-looking and can't be more than twenty, is tongue-tied for a moment. She looks both nervous and agitated as she blinks into the mirror, then at Castiel, then at Dean. 

Castiel quirks an eyebrow up then snickers to himself.

Dean, even with his ego, isn't so sure the girl isn’t momentarily incapable of speaking because of the camera on them and the fact this will one day be on TV. 

“Good,” Castiel says pleased and pats Dean on the chest. “I like this. It’s a good color. But I’d like to see the shirt he has on in blue. Maybe navy. Yes. Navy.” 

The attendant nods without ever saying a word and scampers off. 

The corners of Castiel’s mouth upturn into a knowing smirk once she’s gone, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Dean scoffs and stands up straighter. He’s only about an inch taller than Castiel, but it makes him feel better peering down at him. He wins. “I look stupid,” he whispers firmly. 

“No you don’t.” Castiel is still adjusting his collar then moves to make two long sweeping motions down his shoulders. “You look amazing.” 

Dean knows he’s being serious, and he doesn't know why but every time Castiel says shit like that, compliments him, his stomach does the stupidest flip. Still, the words don't help. The constricted person in the mirror is a stranger. He knows it’s him, but everything is different. His hair is now a perfect fringe of lazy spikes. His beard is gone, which is the one thing that isn’t that bad because he admits he looks about six years younger than he did this morning. 

“This isn’t me, Cas,” he says, holding up a flap on the jacket and fiddling with the zipper. 

Something like sympathy registers in Castiel's eyes. “Okay compromise? No jacket. And how about just a shirt?” He moves take the jacket back off. 

For a second, Dean is confused because for the past three hours all Castiel’s been doing is adding layers. He isn't sure what to do. He could’ve done that a long time ago and saved himself some brain cells. 

“And this cardigan. Don’t worry. It’s for a man. You’ll look nice in it.” 

Dean narrows his eyes. He was an idiot for believing even for a second he had gotten off that easy. Also, he isn’t sure what Castiel means by nice. What happened to hot? Does he really care? The answer is yes, he kind of does, and he buries that particular discovery because it’s far too disturbing. 

“Look. This black one. With a white shirt. Those pants. You won’t even have to try on anything else,” Castiel says, now holding the other hanger he brought back with him. “I promise.” 

“Just this?” Dean eyes him close. He hesitates for a moment but then snatches the garment away before the offer can be taken back. He charges towards the dressing room in a full run. He’s been in this dressing room far too many times today. He flips closed the curtain and takes off layer after layer until he’s back down to bare skin. He kicks around the pile of clothes on the floor until he finds a white dress shirt, one of many that he’s tried on today, and shrugs it on and quickly buttons it up. He, then, rips the cardigan off the hanger and puts it on, not caring that it’s half-way hanging off his shoulders. He’s out of the dressing room a second after that. 

“Okay. Let’s go.” He flashes a smile and starts to march off. He doesn’t get two steps before Castiel is in front of him reaching once again at his clothes. “You’re a fuck—damn it. Freakin’ sadist, you know that?” 

He's had enough. Cameras or no cameras. He wrestles the fabric from Castiel’s hands where he’s buttoning the cardigan. 

“Don’t,” Castiel demands, but Dean isn’t above kicking him in the shin. “Dean, stop it.” He has one button fastened and reaches for another.

Dean regains control and bats him away. 

Castiel gives up and starts to fight back for real, and a moment later, he has Dean’s arms pinned down at his sides. “What’s the matter?” he asks breathless from the exertion. 

“You’re touching me,” Dean grunts out in frustration, wiggling from side to side trying to free himself. Why is Castiel so much stronger than him? Bastard. 

“I’m trying to help you,” Castiel says, fighting to keep Dean where he wants him. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not helping me. I’m dying here, man! You’re not listening, and you keep touching me."

In this struggle, a big whiff of Castiel's scent hits Dean. Something soapy and just good he can't even describe. They are so close. So close. And if he were to turn his head one…tiny…little…inch…

Everything immediately skips into fast forward. He can’t be thinking about dudes making out like this. It’s weird! He tries desperately to think other thoughts. However, much to his own horror, Castiel tenses too, hands squeezing Dean's arms, like he somehow knows exactly what's going on. 

“Okay.” Castiel backs off. The next thing he says is, “Julian, I think we’re done. This outfit is going to work, and Dean needs a little break.” 

Then without warning, Castiel grabs his elbow like a fucking mom, and Dean’s suddenly a kid being trotted off for a talking-to. It’s only seconds before they are alone surrounded by women’s clothes. 

Dean is rather pissed by then so he jerks his arm away. "What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost it?” 

“Me? What’s wrong with you?"

“What?” Dean barks back. He hasn’t done anything. He has, if anything, been a rather good sport up until this point, up until Castiel lost his mind. He's the one that started it. He's the one talking to Dean like he knows him and the one making out with dudes in closets. 

“Dean, I know that what happened earlier was, well to say the least, unprofessional. Screw you though if you think I’m going to apologize again or hold your hand to make the big bad gay memories go away.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Listen to me, just because I’m gay and you’re a guy doesn’t mean I want you or whatever it was you were thinking back there. It’s really insulting not to mention backwards and ignorant. If that's what you thought I was saying earlier, maybe you deserve to be alone,” Castiel finishes with a hard slug against Dean’s arm. 

Dean cowers back, not expecting to be hit, and he instinctively reaches to rub his muscle even though it doesn't hurt. It takes a second for his brain to catch up, and it does just as Castiel grows impatient waiting for him to defend himself. He steps forward to block him from leaving. 

“As nice as it is to hear you think I’m a homophobic jerk,” he says. “Cas, that’s not what I was thinking.” 

“Okay, I'm listening.”

“It’s just—” Dean glances away unsure where to even begin. 

Fine, yes, Dean had always thought seeing two guys together would be weird. Not bad. He honestly isn’t a homophobic jerk nor has he ever been one. However, he did think it would be weird. Maybe even affirming in some way that—for Dean—men and women go together. Except it wasn’t either of those things. It was intense, and all he'd been able to see was Castiel’s face anyway. 

That in itself was the real problem. The guy had looked so undone, so completely blazed out and happy. It was startlingly real, and for a split second, he had wanted to feel what Castiel was feeling in that moment. He knows now that's why he got so defensive in the limo. It felt like he’d been found out because he considered perhaps he was missing something with all his nameless women. 

He has sex, but he's never wanted anyone that much, not like that. No one's ever needed him that way, and the last thing he thought when Castiel spotted him was that there was something happening right in front of him that he wanted. That he was terribly envious he didn't have.

As the afternoon crept along, as their words became friendlier, Dean became more and more aware that what he saw in that closet was somehow being offered to him. Every time Castiel touched him. Every time their banter turned flirtatiously chippy. Every time Castiel brought him something new to try on and Dean detected the subtle hint of attraction in his eyes. Most of all, he knew it every time Castiel got too close and didn't back away. 

He has selfishly liked the attention all day. God because he likes it. How is he supposed to explain that? He doesn't even understand it himself. He needs to try anyway because Castiel has gone and assumed the worst thing possible. 

“Yeah, I saw you and Ethan clearly rounding third base. But I don’t think because you’re gay that you were taking your jollies out and feeling me up, okay? It’s just that you felt a little close," Dean tells him. 

“Close?” Castiel asks skeptically. “And if I wasn’t gay—” 

“No, I’m saying for a second you felt too close back there. That’s it, all right? No _because you’re gay_ thoughts.” 

“Close,” Castiel says again. “What?” he asks as if what Dean's saying doesn’t add up no matter which way he works it out. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, man. It’s means we were standing there and all of the sudden you felt too close," he says louder and more annoyed. 

Even though he’s said the exact same thing three times, it registers this time. Castiel folds his arms across himself protectively, now looking at Dean like he’s a freak. 

“Oh," Castiel says quietly. 

“It’s not a big deal, okay? But you can forget your homophobic stuff now.” 

“Yes. Sorry. Of course.” Castiel nods but keeps his eyes on Dean warily.

“Calm down. I’m not saying. It’s just you asked. I didn’t want you to think—” Dean can't finish. He doesn't even know what he's saying. “So we should go back.” 

“We should," Castiel agrees. He leaves it at that and walks away first, escaping from the situation before either of them says anything else.

When Dean moves to follow, all he can think is that he’s a moron and this day just went to hell. 

*****

“Should I drive you to the entrance?” The driver asks for the third time. 

Castiel is late for Sam and Jessica Winchester's rehearsal dinner, late again, but he's chosen to hide out here for as long as possible. He really should go inside since the bride and groom were essentially throwing a big party the night before their wedding for the show so Dean could find his hot date. 

A gorgeous sunset blankets the entire sky, nothing but purples and corals and peaches, as dusk settles over the small town bringing with it a warm night. Outside the hall, guests began to arrive fifteen minutes ago here and there, but now a heavy flow of couples and families, dressed in their Sunday best, head into the building. Two men are dragging a black metal box towards the entrance, and their black shirts read _Boys Helping Boys_ on the back. It won't be long before someone important notices they are missing a host. 

He wishes he had the guts to tell the driver to take him to the airport. Anything to leave this town. He's a celebrity, and his show is the hottest thing going on TV. He rubs elbows with some of the most beautiful people every day. Eats at fancy restaurants. Parties at the hottest night clubs. He doesn't belong in Lawrence, Kansas. If anything today's taught him, it's that. 

A shout outside the window pulls him out of his thoughts, loud enough that Castiel hears their laughter and gentle ribbing about a football game last weekend. It's a man, someone tall and broad-shouldered wearing a red flannel shirt. 

Castiel crouches low in his seat so he isn't visible through the dark tinted windows. He knows what Dean's wearing tonight, but he's still afraid it may be him. Coming here was a mistake. The rehearsal. The show. All of it. “I can’t go in there," he says to himself. 

“Mr. Adams, everyone is depending on you,” the driver says. He's an older man, late sixties, with a gray combover on top his balding head and a round belly. This morning he greeted Castiel with a name that's long since been forgotten and a friendly promise to get him anywhere in Lawrence on time and in style. “There’s that saying in Hollywood, yeah? The show must go on.” 

The show isn't going anywhere if Castiel stays right where he is. Something is bound to happen if he sees Dean again. He isn’t sure what that something is, but he knows it’s for the best that it doesn't happen. For the both of them. 

_Too close._

The words continue to haunt him, mocking him and driving him insane. Too close? Too close to what? What almost happened at the mall? He has a strong inkling about what Dean was trying to tell him, but the entire thing is crazy. Dean Winchester likes women, not only that, but the man isn't into feelings. Besides you can't have feelings for someone in a day. 

“I can’t go in there,” Castiel says again. “He’ll be in there.”

The driver turns in his seat, slinging his arm across the back, giving Castiel an encouraging smile. “It’s hard when you love someone, but sometimes these things happen for a reason.”

Love? Impossible. Dean isn't even…he's just Dean. He dresses bad, scratch that, he dresses awful. He's loud, irritating, and aside from a few random facts on his application, Castiel knows next to nothing about him. All he knows is that working with Dean today was exhausting, and he's ready to go home. 

He opens his mouth to say that, but the driver continues, “Mr. Kelly isn’t the only fish in the sea so you go in there and be strong. He’ll regret the day he ever let you go.”

The driver sounds like he's seen one too many romantic movies, but he's right. Ethan is the one Castiel should be freaking out over. Somewhere between fighting with Dean and everything else, he forgot that. This is a good thing, a very good thing, after all it’s what he wanted. Yet, somehow it's still worse. He must go inside now to prove to himself that Dean isn't the reason he's over Ethan. He can't be. 

“Thank you," he says, reaching for the door handle.

“Mr. Adams!” Castiel turns back to see the driver shoving a pen and magazine out to him. “Could you sign this for my wife? She loves your show.”

Castiel sighs, but he takes the pen with a forced smile. “Of course.” He scribbles his autograph on the paper then steps out of the limo. The air hits his face, filling his lungs with a nervous breath. He releases it.

The show must go on. 

*****

Dean is frozen in the middle of his bedroom staring at the new clothes laid out on his bed. They are mocking him. For one thing, he has to wear them in public. For another, when he gets to the rehearsal dinner in this stupid outfit, he’ll have to face Castiel again. The last person he wants to see. The ring of his cellphone drags him out of his thoughts, and he rolls his eyes when he sees the caller ID. 

“What’s the name of that guy who pantsed you in fifth grade?” Dean asks in lieu of an actual greeting. “I’m writing my best man speech.”

“Shut up,” Sam huffs over the phone. “Where are you? It’s already five-thirty.”

Dean picks up the pair of pants from the bed. “Chill. I’m getting dressed.”

“Dean, it’s my wedding. I _need_ you here.” 

Instantly, Dean feels bad. He has been so wrapped up in his own problems that he forgot how huge this is for Sam. “I’m sorry, okay?” he says, walking into the connecting bathroom. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” 

“What were you doing anyway?” Sam asks suspicious. 

“Just thinking.” Freaking out is more like it. 

“About what? About what I said earlier?”

Dean leans against the sink counter. “No.”

Sam's voice comes back worried. “What happened?” 

“Nothing's happened. I just. Okay.” Dean takes a deep breath because he feels like getting this off his chest might make him feel better. “I sort of accidentally walked in on Castiel and Ethan together earlier,” he confesses. He doesn’t feel any better, and there is an awkward pause on the other end after he says it. 

“ _Together_ together?” 

“Yep. Like really together, you know? Groping and hands. The whole thing.” 

“Yeah, Dean, I get it,” Sam says like he doesn’t need anymore details. “Wow. That’s so…dude if we had pictures, we could totally get money." 

Dean likes money so he’s immediately interested. “Money?” he asks. 

“Yeah, you know, like to sell them or something. If Ethan Kelly and Castiel Adams are back together, people would want to know that.” 

“No," Dean says automatically. "They’re not back together." Even though he doesn’t know that for sure. 

Sam snorts. “You actually asked them that?” 

"What? No! No, but…I didn’t really get the feeling…we shouldn’t go around spreading lies,” he protests. 

“Well, I’m telling Jessica anyway. She’s a fan.” 

“Of what exactly?” 

“Of Castiel and Ethan," Sam says like duh. 

“ _Together?_ ” Dean asks. That makes no sense. People are actually fans of Ethan and Castiel together? He tries to wrap his head around the idea. 

“Yeah, I don’t get it either. It’s like a girl thing. I dunno know,” Sam says distractedly. “Look, Dean, just get here.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I’ll be there.” He ends the call on cellphone and turns around to stare into the mirror. 

He definitely isn’t a fan, but Castiel and Ethan aren’t back together anyway. Right? All of the sudden he wishes he knew the answer to that very question. 

*****

“We have some special guests ladies and gentlemen. The hosts of _Boys Helping Boys_ are in the house tonight. Let’s give Ethan Kelly and Castiel Adams a warm welcome!” the DJ says, and a ruckus cheer follows the announcement. Seventy people crowd together in the lavender and white decorated room, surrounded by floating candles and white roses and empty dessert plates. All the rehearsing is finished, and people have started to let loose out on the dance floor. A pre-party to tomorrow’s festivities. 

Castiel isn’t paying attention to the joyous atmosphere though. The cameras are off gathering footage of the bride and groom and their guests, so he tracked Ian down pulling him away from the waiter he was chatting up. He needs help, big time, and he's positive Ian's the only one who will know what to do. 

“Too close,” Ian repeats. Castiel just told him everything. About Dean, the mall, the semi-confession. Everything, including the part where he made out with Ethan in a supply closet, at which Ian was very disapproving and predictably amused. 

“Yes.”

“Too. Close.” 

“Yes.” Castiel glances side to side, making sure Dean doesn’t sneak up on him. Earlier, when Dean showed up, so late Castiel thought maybe Dean had bailed, he caught Castiel's eye across the room and pretended not to see him. Which was fine, because at the sight of him, Castiel freaked out and hid behind a very confused cameraman.

“So…incredible…" Ian muses. 

“What?” Castiel hopes Ian holds the answers. He can't carry on this way. He can't concentrate. Dean is all he can think about. 

“Straights boys are fun.”

“Okay. Thanks.” 

“What the hell? Cas, you’ve managed to seduce him without even trying!” Ian laughs. 

“God," Castiel mutters, and that piercing headache is back. Seduce? No, he, hasn’t seduced anyone. “Dean Winchester isn’t seduced. He’s confused. I’ve come to you for advice on how to _un_ -confuse him," he says. 

“What?” Ian takes Castiel by the shoulders. “What’re you talking about?” 

“Dean is confused, and I need—” Castiel begins but is stopped when Ian shakes him roughly. 

“No. Castiel. Straight guys get drunk and then they get confused. They get blow jobs that they won’t remember in the morning from their sister’s gay best friend. That’s totally not what Dean Winchester did. Dudes don’t tell you while sober that they’re attracted to you unless they are actually attracted to you.”

What Ian says is impossible. Dean is a completely stereotypical straight guy that’s obsessed with boobs and beer. Castiel had it all figured out this morning. Overcompensating womanizer right? “I really don’t think that’s what Dean was saying. Sometimes too close is too close. You know, personal space and everything.”

Ian ignores that and moves beside him. “He’s a big guy. How many shots do you think it’d take to loosen him up? Five or six? There’s an open bar tonight.” 

“I’m being serious here. Help me. I feel like I need to talk to him about this, but I don’t know what to say.” 

“Are you trying not to have sex? With him?” Ian asks shocked. “He’s spectacular. Practically a god especially without that beard. For once, do yourself a favor and don’t do the right thing because this is exactly what you need now that you’re over Ethan. Wait. You are, aren’t you? If you aren’t, then yeah, this isn’t a good idea.” 

“Come on, Ian, help me,” Castiel begs. “You really think if he hadn’t walked in us, he’d ever even consider this. If he is considering this.” 

“I don’t know.” Ian shrugs. “Attraction doesn’t have rules, Cas. We give it rules. Maybe this is one of those times you shouldn’t worry about them.” 

Castiel doesn’t want any of it to make sense. He doesn’t want to be the cause of Dean’s confusion. Not after what ten hours of knowing him? All he wanted to do was help the poor guy. No matter what Dean said he had to be lonely or at least emotionally damaged. Somewhere in the middle of all this, he started to like Dean as a person, but it isn't anything more than that. It can't be.

Ian holds back a smirk. “It’s sounds to me like you’re considering it which, I think, is why you’re freaking out.” 

Castiel watches Ian from the corner of his eye. “I’m not considering it. I’m concerned,” he says. “Besides Dean’s off looking for a date. A female date to his brother’s wedding.” 

“I can’t believe you like him. He’s totally not your type, and I don’t mean just because he’s straight." Ian bumps Castiel’s shoulder with his own and then snickers. “Well, obviously he’s less straight than we believed, but you get what I’m saying.” 

“What if I don’t like him? What if I’m only thinking now that I like him because you’re telling me I like him?” Castiel’s voice is hushed. Not that he likes Dean. He definitely doesn’t like Dean that way. It’s a hypothetical question. 

“You may need a shot of tequila too," Ian says, signaling for the bartender.

Castiel yanks Ian's arm out of the air. “I don’t need tequila! I need for it to be tomorrow so I can go home.” That's all he wants to do because then Dean won't be here forcing him to think about any of this. 

“My bad. I forgot you’d rather not talk when it comes to your own problems. You like to pretend you’re okay, Cas, because it makes your life easier until you can’t handle it anymore. Then you lash out and do stupid shit like sleep with Julian or today almost sleep with Ethan.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know whether to be hurt or angry by Ian's criticism.

“You have to deal with things sometime and realize even you don’t have it all figured out. Anyway, Ethan and you are on in five minutes. Why don’t you go find him?” 

“Ian! Wait!” Castiel cries out. It doesn’t matter though, Ian is already headed back to his waiter from earlier. 

If he thought it was possible, Castiel would have snuck out the back door, but there is no escape with all these people around, most of them lurking like vultures for autographs and photo ops. He sighs to himself completely miserable before making a quick and hopefully discreet beeline through the crowd.

*****

Dean has ditched the cameras and is currently staring down the buffet table. Damn. There are tons of platters full of food on sticks and bowls of yummy cheesy goodness. These pants better have give. He reaches for a handful of cheese cubes and starts popping them into his mouth, momentarily happy. All his problems are forgotten with the addition of a little food. 

So of course, Sam comes up beside him and says, “Nice sweater.”

Dean swallows down the mouthful with a gulp and narrows his eyes. "Shut up," he snarls. 

Sam smirks. 

“One eye open, I goddamn mean it,” Dean says and shovels in more food.

“Shouldn’t you be finding a date?” Sam asks. “You know instead of hoarding cheese? It’s for guests, Dean.” 

“I'm a guest,” Dean protests, his cheeks full. 

“No girl is going to date you with bad breath, and I thought getting a date that you can’t find in the yellow pages was the whole point. Might a remind you we spent a fortune tonight for this. _For you._ “

“No, the point was for Jess to get her wedding on TV, and I somehow got dragged into it because you’re both…just…evil.” 

“Jess is really happy about this. You might not think so but she was trying to help you. Don’t you say anything to her either. I mean it. She’s really stressed out about tomorrow, and I can’t deal with you making it worse.”

“Bridezilla,” Dean mutters. 

“I heard that.” 

“Dean, you look so hot!” Jessica—the Bridezilla—walks up to them and loops her arm through Sam’s. His brother gives him a warning stare. “My friend Kara is here and I think she’s perfect for you. Now that _Ethan and Cas_ have worked their magic, I can introduce you to her.” 

“Hi, Jess." Dean grins wide as Sam’s face twists into a scowl. “I’d _love_ to meet your friend Kara!” 

“Really?” Jess asks, clapping her hands together like a seal. “Great. I’m going to tell her. Before you change your mind.” She runs off.

Dean looks at Sam. “Happy?” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“Nothing.” Dean shrugs his shoulders with an innocent look. 

“Dean…”

“Nothing, Sammy, relax.” He smirks when Sam’s shoulders sink down. Triumph. Even though he has nothing planned. Yet. 

With a sigh, Sam turns away to pick at the table cloth. “You talk to Dad today?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers, dropping the uneaten cheese back onto the tray and cleaning his hands on a napkin suddenly less hungry. “About an hour ago.” 

“And?”

“His business trip is running a little long, Sam, but he’s going to make it. He always does.” 

“But he couldn’t cancel it.” 

“Come on, not tonight. Mom’s picking Dad up from the airport in the morning. He’s going to be at your wedding like he said. Chill all right?” He squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “You’re getting married tomorrow. To Jess. Don’t worry about anything else, okay?” 

“Whatever,” Sam says, but he’s dropping it. 

“Good. Well. I’ve got a date to go get. Have fun.” He pats his brother hard on the back and walks off.

He slips easily through the crowd in the direction Jessica took off, and he spots her standing across the room after a minute or two of searching. She’s with a tall, skinny brunette. Jess has good taste! Kara is exactly the kind of girl he likes. Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

“Looks like you’ve spotted someone!” 

Dean’s vision is suddenly blocked by a cameraman and Ethan, and he immediately groans. He glances around him, and now the entire bloody crew is there. One guy holding a boom mic and Julian looking bored as hell. 

“Did you?” Ethan asks excitedly with his perfect megawatt smile. 

“Uh…” Dean sees Castiel behind Ethan, and his entire world goes hazy. 

Castiel is staring back at him, and it is only then Dean truly notices for the first time that the guy has these striking blue eyes that are rather impossible to miss. He has to physically shake himself in order to look away. What he said at the mall? Too close? They aren't half as close as they were then, but this banquet hall now feels like the size of that supply closet. 

Ethan wraps an arm around Dean's shoulders. “Who’s the lucky girl?” he asks. 

“I, uh, it’s Kara,” Dean stalls, but it's enough time for Castiel to noticeably glance away. He swallows. That look is his fault. He knows it's his fault. 

“All right! With those eyes? Lucky Kara, right Cas? So go over there already!” Ethan cheers and moves to let him pass. 

“Dean! Wait.” 

When Castiel calls out to him, Dean’s entire body shuts down. He can't even breathe waiting for what Castiel's going to say. There are so many things he could say, so many things Dean realizes he wants him to say. 

Castiel steps forward and holds up his hands, reaching out slowly to show he’s going to touch him. “Do you mind?” he asks. 

“No,” Dean utters, his dry vocal chords rubbing together. “It’s fine.”

Castiel takes Dean’s collar in his hand and adjusts it where it has folded up on itself. His fingers are warm even through the fabric. His eyes, his piercing blue eyes are glued to Dean’s. Before he lets go, he slowly takes in Dean's entire face. 

Through it all, Dean's heart is pounding so hard he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t say anything with all these people around, and he wouldn’t even know what to say if they weren’t. 

“Thank you,” he says once he sees that his shirt is fixed. 

Castiel nods and says with a small smile, “You’re welcome.” He retakes his place on the other side of Ethan, no longer looking at him, his gaze pinned to the floor. 

“Okay," Dean breathes. He spots Jessica again. She motions for him to come over. That’s all he can do, right? Act as if everything didn’t just get really complicated? So he goes with a cameraman trailing behind him to catch every moment.


	3. Chapter 3

The next thirty minutes of Castiel's life are rock bottom. 

Last night, he met a guy at a bar and flirted with him for exactly five minutes before he realized the guy smelled like rancid cologne and he wasn't very attractive. He left that bar, found another bar and got himself good and drunk. It hadn't been a particularly good night. 

But tonight? Realizing he likes a guy he has no chance of getting? This is rock bottom. That's why Ethan finds him skulking near the exit door, deciding if he's really leaving or if he's now stalking Dean and that Kara woman.

"Castiel, hey. Hold on." Ethan jogs up to him, out of breath as though he'd been chasing Castiel across the room to catch his attention. "Are you leaving already?" 

The DJ has just loaded one of those cheesy group dance songs, and people are filing onto the dance floor. Parties in Hollywood are never this wholesome. Though he would have taken the plastic people, hell he would've taken a night out with Julian over being trapped here. Somehow, even across the room, Dean and his date are the only two people visible. This isn't something he wants to admit out loud, especially to an ex who, despite their encounter earlier, very much has his life together.

"I'm going back to my hotel," Castiel lies. Back to the hotel after a spin by a liquor store. "To pack."

Ethan nods at him. "Ready to get out of Kansas huh?"

A spot in the dance floor clears, and his eyes land on Dean again. He is smiling at Kara, who is gorgeous and thin with a narrow face and almond eyes like one of those models on the posters in Dean's living room. Castiel forces his eyes back to Ethan. "Yes," he says. "It's been a long day."

Ethan adjusts the knot in his tie and clears his throat.

At the movement, Castiel draws in breath. He knows what Ethan's about to ask him. "I need a hot shower and bed," he says quickly. Ethan isn't another one-night stand. Maybe with everyone else he can fake his way through it, pretend he's okay, but Ethan doesn't deserve that. "I think I've seen enough of the Kansas night life for one trip." 

Ethan's easy smile falters, but the next thing he does is touch Castiel on the arm with his hand, giving him a smile as though being nice will stamp out any awkwardness. He holds Castiel's shoulder as he says, "I don't know. I pretty sure we've found the best Lawrence has to offer right here."

_The best Lawrence has to offer._ Castiel tracks the room with his eyes like an automated radar zeroing in on Dean. Finding him amongst the crowd somehow is an effortless task. What isn't effortless, though, is remaining calm when he finds Dean staring back at him this time. 

They lock eyes and immediately turn away. 

Castiel’s face flushes with heat at being seen. He realizes Ethan's mouth is moving, but he can't hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. "Drink?" he panics. "Let's get a drink."

"Really?" Ethan brightens and steps back to let Castiel lead the way. He laughs with a tiny wrinkle in his brow. "You look like you could use one. Are you okay?" 

Castiel knows he's acting weird. "I'm…I'll be fine," he says. As they walk, the crowd parts around them, and he spots a woman with a cellphone snapping a photo. He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. Great, that's exactly what he doesn't need. 

They reach the bar, and Ethan observes him in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks. 

Is he okay? Well, let's see. He has feelings for another guy, inappropriate but very real feelings. So no, he isn't okay. The only reason he's still functional is because he knows after tomorrow he won't ever have to see Dean again. Castiel leans against the bar, flagging down the bartender, telling himself he's not about to get drunk over this.

The bartender waits on them quickly, coming back with two glasses of wine because Castiel decided he shouldn't ask for an entire bottle of tequila. He takes a glass, hopeful this will help.

Ethan raises his own in a toast. "To Dean Winchester," he says clinking their glasses. "Together we pulled off a miracle, Cas. Just like always." 

Goosebumps shiver over Castiel's arms. He plays off the discomfort with a tight smile but ends up chugging down two nervous gulps of wine because the itchy feeling winding down his spine won't go away. "Just like always," he says and places his glass back on the counter. No more alcohol or tomorrow will be ugly. 

"I'm hoping everything works out for him." Ethan sips at his wine as he rests a hip casually against the bar. "He's a nice guy."

In spite of everything Castiel thought this morning. Awful clothes. Bad hair. Overcompensating. Womanizer. His brain nods yes. Past the bravado and the sarcasm, there's an actual person who is as scared and confused about caring for someone as anyone else. 

Castiel fights off the weight pressing down on his chest. "Yes. I hope it works out too," he says. 

He doesn't look for Dean the rest of the party.

*****

Dean gives his tie a tug and it loosens around his neck. He thumbs the rim of the glass for a second before lifting the shot to his lips and pours the whiskey down his throat savoring the warm burn as it goes in. He places the empty shot down with a thud and thinks of asking the barkeep for another. How did everything get so out of hand today? There’s a reason festering in the back of his mind, but he’s not ready to poke it. 

Not yet. 

He slides away from the bar, and immediately he notices the crew packing up their cameras and equipment. They are finished for the day. He glances around hoping to find...

He freezes. 

Castiel and Ethan are standing across the half-empty banquet hall with Jessica and Sam. Jessica grins from ear to ear as she pulls the hosts down into a big double-hug. When she leans away, she says something that makes Ethan laugh. She steps back and loops her arm through Sam’s, and Ethan casually drops his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel looks confused for a moment, but then he gives Ethan a small smile. 

It’s true then. 

Ethan and Castiel are…are what? Back together? It appears that way, and it throws Dean how much the sight angers him. It seemed like earlier that Castiel was over this guy. He doesn’t know why, but he would feel so much better if he didn’t have to look at them being all happy reunited couple. He really doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. 

Except he does. He knows why. It is the thing festering, the thing he isn’t poking. The thing that ruined any real chance he had at making a connection with Jessica’s friend. From the few minutes, he talked with Kara, she seemed nice. She even said yes to being his date to the wedding. She is funny, smart and hot. Still, there was no spark. If he is going to do this like Sam—like everyone—suggests he do, shouldn’t there be? 

He knows how it would play out. He would go with her to the wedding, sleep with her, see her one or two more times, and then that would be it. It doesn’t even feel like there should be more to it than that. Nothing worth changing himself for, nothing. It’s horrible, but he really, really, really wishes there was. It would make his life so much easier at the moment. He wouldn’t be shooting daggers at Ethan with his eyes. Dr. Phil already had his chance. It’s someone else turn. 

It scares him, but he knows he's already found something worth chasing. How he got to this point he doesn’t know. But it’s too late, and now his life sucks. 

“Dean, we’re going to pick your date up tomorrow since you’ll be with your brother at the church in the morning.”

It takes a moment for Dean to snap out of his head, and he sees Julian beside him. 

“Ian’s working on dinner reservations. Isn’t that nice? You don’t even have to pay,” he says. 

“Right. Yeah. Whatever,” Dean says. He can’t stop looking across the room. “Sounds great.”

“Ethan and Castiel will do a short speech tomorrow at the reception, and you can say something if you want, you know, like a thank you for everyone helping you look less like you.” 

Dean is just nodding his head, he’s not even listening. “Yep, okay.” 

“What are you…?” Julian trails off with an annoyed sigh and turns to see what has Dean so enraptured. He looks back surprised. 

Dean panics tearing his eyes away from the scene across the room. “I heard you. You’re picking up Kara and…something about a speech.” 

Julian turns around for a second again as if he's double-checking what he just saw. “We’re picking up Kara, and you’re going on a _date_ with her.” 

“I am,” he agrees with a nod. 

“Yes, but you’re staring at my hosts like one of them just stole your puppy. Am I going to have problems? I’d like to know now. Fuck, I don’t even care. I just want to go home,” Julian mutters the last part under his breath. 

“No! No problems,” Dean insists. He isn’t going to do anything that would warrant problems. He isn’t. 

“Whatever.” Julian rolls his eyes and starts to leave. 

Dean’s gaze drifts off again. 

Julian stops. “Okay! I don’t know what the hell is going on here but let me fill you in, okay Kansas?” He points a finger across the room. “First, Castiel and Ethan don’t know what the hell they want. They know it’s not each other but that didn’t stop them for two years. Second, you’re wasting your time counting on either one of them to figure that out. Trust me. If you’re having trouble picking, go with the girl.” 

Did this asshole just call him Kansas? If Dean wasn’t horrified over the fact that he’s now so transparent, it took Julian less than a minute to figure him out, he would be wiping the floor with him. “I’m not picking anyone,” he stammers out in protest. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel saying goodbye to Jessica and Sam, and he just wants to go over there. He wants to say good night too. Any excuse, he would use it. He just wants to talk to him. 

“It’s Cas. Isn’t it?” Julian asks then.

Dean looks at him. It is real now. Someone has said it out loud. It’s Cas. 

“Before you do anything stupid just remember all of this will be over tomorrow,” Julian says, actually sounding like he isn't bored for once before he walks away.

When Dean looks back, Castiel is already gone. 

*****

Castiel wishes his ride would hurry up already. The guests continue to spill out into the parking lot, finishing their goodbyes. He watches them from the curb as he waits for his driver to pull around with the limo, hoping to make it out of here before Ethan figures out he's gone. 

He can't believe he started out this day so focused on one thing, and now none of it matters. Hell, he’s trying to _avoid_ a conversation where Ethan inevitably invites him back to his hotel room. He was so fixated on not making an ass of himself that he spent last night drunk. 

Now he's walking away.

How ridiculous is it that he's thinking about someone else now? Ridiculously pathetic, he fears. In fact, it would be much better if he was standing on this curb thinking about Ethan. It'd sure be better than what he’s doing now. Sulking over Dean Winchester, when he simply did what Castiel asked him to do. He played along. Now he's hopefully on his way to starting a real relationship, if not with Kara, then with someone. 

“Thank God,” Castiel mutters to himself when he sees his driver. He only needs to get through these last few hours, and before he knows it, he’ll be back in California. 

“Cas!” 

He stops at the sound of Dean’s voice, his stomach dropping through the ground. He bets he could make it to the limo and Dean wouldn’t catch him. Instead of running, he looks back. 

Dean shuffles through the groups of people, apologizing as his quick pace causes him to bump into two older women on the way to their car. 

Castiel watches Dean cross the parking lot and congratulates himself for being brilliant enough to put him in that outfit because he looks perfect. So perfect, he can't decide if it's really the clothes or just Dean. 

“Are you leaving?” Dean asks once he gets there, breathless from running. The answer is rather obvious when the limo stops near them. 

“I need to get packed.” Castiel drops his eyes to the ground uncomfortable with the way Dean is looking at him. “My flight is right after the reception. Tonight was nice though.” 

“I’m sure you’re ready to go.” 

“I am,” Castiel says without enough emotion to make it ring true. “That’s my ride.” He gestures a thumb over his shoulder, sure that any minute the driver's going to honk for him to hurry up. “I should go.” 

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to hold you up." Dean takes a reluctant step back. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“It’s the big date, right?” Castiel moves backwards with something akin to a smile. When Dean fails to respond, he turns around. He doesn’t even know what Dean should say, but he's thankful the conversation is over. He walks away, and for a moment, he thinks he’s made it home free because he’s already has the door open. 

But then, the door jerks and Dean leans over him blocking his ability to move any further. The warm scent of Dean's cologne is fogging up his head so bad he can't breathe. 

Dean licks his lips nervously. “It’s still early. Do you wanna maybe hang out for a bit at my place? My car, it’s over there.” 

Castiel doesn’t even look where Dean points because he’s too busy staring at him. Dean has lost his mind right here in the parking lot.

“I figure we can have a couple beers to celebrate, I don’t know, making it through the day.” Dean fishes through his pockets for his keys and then he holds them up. 

Castiel eyes flick to the keys then back at Dean, his heart skipping a beat. Is Dean asking what he thinks he’s asking? Is this beers because they spent all day together so why not? Or is it something more? Is Dean inviting him back to his place for real? Or maybe he’s only asking because Castiel leaves tomorrow so what does he have to worry about? Why not throw caution to the wind? 

"No, I can't," Castiel says. He won't allow Dean to blow his chances.

“Cas, come on. No cameras. No show. We can just talk. Okay?” 

Castiel searches Dean’s face waiting for him to say he’s only kidding. When that doesn't happen, though, he finds himself nodding unable to help himself at the temptation. “Okay," he agrees. 

Dean looks positively relieved that his invitation isn't being rejected, but all Castiel can do is hope he didn't just screw up his life up even more. 

*****

It's two minutes past midnight, and they are on the last of the beer. Castiel grins, his eyes glassy from the alcohol, and leans back in the recliner, head turned lazily over the side, peering up at Dean with this moony look on his face. 

They had been watching TV, a marathon of _Boys Helping Boys_ that Castiel insisted on seeing. He spent most of the time telling Dean all the juicy behind-the-scenes details, but they stopped paying attention and the TV’s volume has long since been lowered to background noise. 

Dean takes a swig of his beer looking down the end of the bottle at Castiel, who is either drunker than he thought or he doesn’t mind, but either way, they are definitely checking each other out for a second even after he pulls the drink away from his lips. He helps himself to a roaming stare, emboldened by the safety of his living room and the beer and their conversation. 

He can't believe he isn't tired, not even after the day he's had, but they simply started talking and didn't stop. He spent the last two hours telling Castiel everything he needed to know and then some. 

He told him about his car but oddly the guy didn’t look very impressed. He told him about his parents, about his mom being the coolest mom ever and about going to work for his Dad straight out of high school and about how next year they plan to expand their stores to Oklahoma. He probably told Castiel more about Sam than he wants to know, but hey, he’s proud of the kid. After the wedding, Sam is going to law school at Stanford, and he's bummed but proud. He even got in an entire speech about the historical merits of Led Zeppelin’s fourth album, but Castiel didn’t change his opinion on expressing his band-crushes through clothing. 

In between, Castiel fess up on how he scored his current gig. About growing up the youngest of four brothers in Los Angeles. For the most part, though, he let Dean talk about whatever he wanted, seemingly content to listen. 

As Dean opens his mouth to continue their bonding fest, Castiel glances up at the clock on the wall. “Shit, I gotta go. I didn’t realize the time. I’ll call a cab," he says, the expression on his face suddenly sobering. 

“Yeah.” Dean places his beer on the table beside him and scoots to the edge of the couch. He doesn’t want Castiel to go, but it’s late. He probably should let him leave. Probably…

It's a split second decision. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying until he’s already asked the question. Once it’s out, though, he knows he needs answers. 

“Why exactly did you break-up with Ethan?” Dean asks. 

Castiel appears unphased by the question. “I think towards the end we started to wonder if we were really as happy as we thought. Everyone loved us, but I didn’t know if we loved each other.” 

“But today…?” 

“We were together for a long time, Dean.” 

Dean can’t help himself. He has to ask even if he’s prying. “Are you back together now?”

“We’re…” Castiel furrows his brow. “No. We’re not.”

Dean smiles for a moment. “Okay,” he says.

Castiel moves to stand up from the chair, and Dean stands with him. Like an animal being cornered, Castiel quickly says, “I really think I should go back to my hotel.” 

“Yeah.” Dean nods. He wants to do the right thing, really he does. However, the right thing is taking Castiel back to his hotel, and he definitely doesn’t want to do that. That’s the only thing he knows for sure. “But what if you don’t leave, Cas?” he asks. “What if I ask you stay?” 

Castiel laughs a short nervous laugh, but he doesn’t run for the door. He simply stands there.

Each second that goes by kills Dean’s confidence. “What happens if I ask you to stay?” he asks worried he's misjudged the situation. 

Castiel takes a hesitant step away from him then. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Dean! Right now this seems like what you want. We’ve been drinking and it’s late. But tomorrow…”

“So you’re saying this is just me? That I’m going crazy here?” 

“I don’t know. Are you going crazy? It seems like it, and I’m not here to help you work through it.”

It's obvious Castiel is confused. What the hell is this anyway? This isn’t what he signed for. This is throwing all the rules out the window about his sexuality, about commitment, about everything, and Dean is starting not to care.

“I’m not toying with you, Cas. I don’t think I’ve ever been this serious. And I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think…I thought maybe you were considering it.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re not?” 

Castiel rushes off in the direction of the foyer. “I need to leave.”

Dean’s heart jumps into his throat, and he chases after him. He gets to the front door and manages to push it back closed as it starts to open. “Cas, I'm telling you I don't want you to go.” 

Castiel shakes his head, not looking up. “This is wrong. I was supposed to help you today but not like this.” 

“But this doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like if I don’t ask you to stay…” Dean trails off for a moment as he thinks of the best way to say this without sounding stupid. “It feels like I’d regret it.” 

Castiel closes his eyes as if he doesn't want to hear anymore.

“This has been a weird day for me,” Dean confesses. 

“Weird? That's a bit of an understatement,” Castiel says with a groan, but he moves away from the door and goes to sit back on the couch. “So what? What are you saying? Am I supposed to sit here with you all night? Are we going upstairs? What? I don’t even know what we’re talking about here.” 

Upstairs? Dean hasn’t thought about anything past Castiel not leaving him. From the way he’s loosening his tie, Castiel appears to be agreeing to do just that. Dean should be happier he got his way, but the mention of going upstairs now has him freaking out. 

“I don’t know,” he says and walks over to Castiel. “I guess I was counting on you to know what to do.”

“Dean, I definitely don’t know what to do.” 

“Huh.” He drops down on the couch. “That’s probably not good.” 

“Probably not.” 

“How does this normally go?”

“It normally goes I’m gay and so is the other guy,” Castiel says with a bitter laugh. 

“So the problem is I’m not…” Dean doesn’t know what he is anymore. 

“I don’t know if it’s a problem, but it’s confusing.” Castiel ventures a brief look. “How about this for starters? Are you even attracted to me? _Really_ attracted to me?” 

“I…uh…” Dean leans his head back against the top of the couch. The irony of this is cruel. The first time he’s ever felt an emotional connection to anyone and he has to figure out the physical part—the part he’s actually good at damn it. How inconvenient. "I don’t know. I never think about guys like that, you know?" 

“I can’t decide for you.” 

“I know.” Dean lifts his head up to look at him. “So what then?” 

“Maybe we just…” Castiel faces Dean, folding one leg down on the couch while the other hangs off the side. He gestures to Dean and then to himself. “We could just, you know.” 

Dean's stomach cramps now into a knot. They could kiss? They should kiss. 

“Are you okay with that?” Castiel asks him in a quiet voice. 

“Uh…” Dean draws out for a second. He doesn’t want to say no so he goes with, “Yeah. Sure okay.” He almost laughs when Castiel's eyes go wide because it seems they are both freaked out here. “Yeah,” he repeats, more certain this time. 

Castiel blinks at him. “You’re insane. You know that?” 

Dean nods. “Believe me I know. Okay so.” He claps his hands together and shifts on the couch to mirror Castiel’s position. If he pretends he isn’t nervous, maybe he won’t continue to feel like he’s going pass out because that’s exactly what he feels like. “Let’s do it.” 

“Dean. You don’t—”

“No talking!” Dean warns him pointing a finger in Castiel’s face. 

“But—” 

“No!” He impatiently gestures his hands towards himself, telling him to bring it. “Come on.” 

“Alright, alright,” Castiel says as though he’s being persuaded to do something he doesn’t even want to do, but after a second, he shifts closer and licks his lips wet. 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut because he knows he’ll run if he doesn’t. When nothing happens, he begins to think his reaction made Castiel reconsider doing this. As he’s about to ask what’s taking so damn long, he feels Castiel’s hand on his face. He lets out a nervous breath, attempting to calm the sudden butterfly wings in his chest, but then lips graze against his and... 

Castiel’s lips are softer than Dean expects, and he wants to meet Castiel’s mouth where it is hesitantly testing out his. He just can’t. His mind is doing its own thing. Before he can even attempt to make sense of it, Castiel breaks away from him. 

Neither of them says anything. 

That didn’t help. At. All. 

To say he's surprised, when Castiel presses his mouth back to his, honestly doesn’t even cover it. Dean goes flailing forward when Castiel really kisses him this time with teeth and a whole bunch of tongue and enough heat to set Dean's skin on fire. He is completely overwhelmed for a moment, unsure where his hands are supposed to go, as a shudder moves through his entire body, filling him with warmth. As he realizes he isn't confused this time, it's over. 

Oh yeah. That helped. 

He nods his head fervently and whispers, “Again.” 

Castiel, though, sounds disappointed and starts to move away. “Dean…”

“Damn it!” Dean reaches out for Castiel’s sleeve intending to stop him from getting up. Instead, he tugs him all the way forward and their mouths meet once again. God his mouth. This time as soon as their lips touch it’s like kissing a bolt of lightening. His brain is kicking on all cylinders now, and he has what he wants and Castiel smells so good up against him and he tastes that way too. Castiel must know it because he crushes his lips against Dean's with a relieved sigh. 

They fall sideways against the back of the couch. His hands go to Castiel's back, running along muscles and bone, pushing them closer and closer, until there's no space left between them. Castiel shifts his own hands through Dean's hair fitting their lips together, licking into his mouth, kissing him harder. They carry on this way for what seems like hours, only stopping when they are both entirely out of breath. 

Dean pries his mouth away and asks, “Is this normal?”

“No,” Castiel mumbles staring down at Dean’s lips and then shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

“So we should go upstairs?”

“We should.” 

It takes Castiel reaching out his hand to jump-start Dean into actually moving. They make their way through the quiet house. Through the living room. Through the dark foyer. Up the stairs. Each one creaking under their anxious footsteps. Down the hallway, side by side, lost in their own thoughts, until they reach the bedroom.

Dean clicks on the lamp sitting on the night stand, and the room illuminates with a soft yellow glow. He watches Castiel glance around, and he wishes it were cleaner. There are still clothes strewn about and evidence on the carpet of all the crew here this morning. It probably doesn't matter much, but everything has changed now. They are all alone, and Castiel brought him up here for a reason. Dean's bed suddenly looks like the most complicated contraption he’s ever seen in his life. 

“You know what we’re doing now right?” Dean asks because he has no clue. 

Castiel walks towards him. “I wouldn’t worry.”

Before Dean really knows what’s happening, he is being pushed backwards onto the bed. He lands in the middle of the blankets with a dull thump. 

“Cas…” he says unsure and sits up on his elbows. 

Castiel crawls over him, on hands and knees, and the mattress dips from his weight. He takes the last button of Dean’s cardigan and begins to undo it, one button at a time. 

He decides he likes Castiel on top of him where he can see everything he’s doing, and soon he moves them back into a kiss because he needs to feel his lips again. Forgetting the clothes, they explore each other’s mouths for a few sweet seconds until Castiel moves away. 

Dean snakes his tongue over his bottom lip, still tasting the heat that was there. He opens his eyes. “I was enjoying that,” he says when he realizes Castiel has no intention of coming back for more.

In response, he grinds his hips into Dean, friction rutting right against his lower body. “What do you think?” Castiel asks, circling his hips back down even harder.

Dean's mouth falls open with a gasp because his cock just got very interested in tonight's proceedings. “Again,” he grunts. 

Castiel obliges with a soft chuckle.

What Dean really wants is to throw Castiel down so they can get on with it. Even though he realizes this is probably not going to be slow and pretty, which hopefully won't be a problem, he still isn't sure he’s in charge here. His pants are stretched over beneath Castiel's merciless hips, and he urges his own up to tell him this, whatever they're doing, needs to happen _now._

Castiel sits back, his humored smile long gone. His breath quickens as he takes ahold of Dean's zipper, expert fingers getting his fly and belt buckle undone at an impressive speed. It's the first time his clothes obsession makes Dean happy all day. 

Then Castiel lifts onto his knees, and Dean shoves his pants off his waist with a grateful sigh. As soon as his cock pops free, Castiel gets to it. He licks his hand and takes Dean’s cock into his fist. 

Dean bites teeth into his bottom lip, wanting to laugh at the absurdity. There's a guy on top of him. Jerking him off. There aren't going to be any second thoughts, are there? He wants this to happen. Right now. He wants Castiel. He wants a guy. He wants a guy that knows everything about him. 

Castiel strokes him hard and fast, teasing the tip of his cock, running his fingers up and down his gentle curve, making the slit of him leak and his balls tighten upward. 

And Dean is dying, sighing out, grabbing two fistfuls of covers as he thrusts himself up, slipping in and out of Castiel's long fingers. "Oh God," he says under his breath. 

Their mouths are back together pausing the delicious rhythm momentarily. They taste each other again in a tangle of eager lips and warm tongues. Dean is so turned on he reaches his hands into Castiel's hair, cupping the back of his head, arching into the hand on his cock, kissing him with his entire body. He doesn't know if it's Castiel or if this is new and happening so fast it excites him, but he wants more. 

"Is this okay?" Castiel says against him and then moves his tongue back inside for another kiss. "Dean?" 

He opens his eyes when Castiel's forehead rests against his. Castiel is watching him close as his fist slides all the way down him, looking at Dean with hungry dilated eyes, piercing blue gone midnight. He leans against Castiel and nods. Everything stops as though Dean gave the wrong answer. 

Dean isn't even thinking why. He wants the heat of Castiel's hand back, desperately, so he nudges his hips upward as far as he can, wishing all his stupid clothes wasn't in the way restricting his movements. 

He isn't ready when Castiel shimmies down him and his mouth closes around him in one graceful swoop. He clutches at his own head as the blood rushes through him. This feels different, but he doesn't want it to stop. He sinks into Castiel's touches, powerless and yielding to everything happening, every time Castiel's tongue swirls around him. 

He puts his hands back in Castiel's hair, pulling at tufts of brown when his throat opens and Dean plunges deep inside. Caressing the soft strands between his fingers as he's sucked off. Castiel's mouth is unbelievably wet, his jaw working him in and out as nimble hands rub between his legs. Dean studies the ceiling. How does this feel so good? Then he glances down his body to watch Castiel's lips stretch around him. Shivering hotly at the sight of Castiel sucking him like it's the most incredible thing happening to him too. 

Sooner than he'd like, the pressure builds inside of him, and energy hurls down his spine to his toes and then concentrates in his belly, pooling so fast he is left panting for air. He grips the side of Castiel's neck in his hand. He’s about to come down his throat if he doesn't let go. 

Castiel holds Dean's wrist in place where he tries to direct his head away and swallows him completely. He clutches Castiel's fingers into his, barely making it another second before he comes with a loud enthusiastic grunt. His cock falls free, and every drop is wrenched out of him until he is weak from it. 

When Castiel moves up him, his mouth is red-hot and salty, and Dean groans into a clumsy kiss for a few seconds until a hardness presses against his thigh. He hasn't even recovered functional thoughts yet, but that isn’t going to work. 

He pulls away and sits into a sitting position, allowing Castiel's legs to fold around his waist. Sweaty fingers fuss with the zipper for a few seconds, but he gets it unfastened and pushes away enough clothes that he can take Castiel firmly into his hand. He looks up at him, pausing. He's never done this to anyone but himself. 

The weight of Castiel is familiar in his palm, thick and heated, and he tests his fingers out against him, seeing how it feels to stroke him, how his cock jumps when he touches a tender spot along the tip, how the skin throbs under his hand, how it makes him power-drunk when Castiel bows his head against him with a thready sigh. 

He takes Castiel in with a hand on the small of his back. His rumpled suit jacket bunches up around his shoulders, and his white dress shirt hangs down in the way. Dean wishes he could see what Castiel looks like under there, see all of him. However, the pleasantry of removing clothes is lost when Castiel strains into his hand and wraps both arms around Dean, holding their chests together. 

He picks a good pace, thinking about how he would normally do this to himself, and he presses harder, searching for what Castiel wants, for what will make him moan in his arms. Dean wants to make him feel good. He wants for Castiel to come and for him to feel it. For it to mean something. 

“Dean,” Castiel says in a low voice, and it's the best sound Dean's ever heard in his life. He must be doing something right because he sees Castiel reach the end, sees him start to come before he feels it shoot hot down his hand, all over his wrist. With one last jerk, Castiel goes limp against him with his chest heaving. 

For a few seconds, there's only the heavy sound of recovery audible in the room as though they have both surprised themselves and have nothing yet to say. The haze of lust soon subsides, though, and Dean pointlessly thinks a guy just made him come.

Castiel moves from on top of him, and Dean drops backwards. While Dean tries to think of something good to say, he shifts to pull his pants back up, and after several seconds of awkward silence, he hears the jingle of Castiel's buckle as he does the same.

Up until ten minutes ago, he didn't have any experience with guys and certainly not having sex with one and sticking around afterwards. All he eventually comes up with is, “I have a date to my brother’s wedding.” 

Castiel is near the end of the bed completely dressed with a carefully blank expression on his face. “Yes. You do.” He sighs and sits beside him. "Dean, tell me right now if what happened, if we forget it tomorrow." 

It bothers him that Castiel makes it sound as if that decision would be okay, like he is prepared to forget everything if that's what Dean wants to happen. "What?" He reaches for Castiel's arm nervous he's going to leave. He still doesn't want him to go. "Why would we forget this?"

"You've never had a girlfriend much less a _boyfriend,_ remember?" 

Dean smirks. "Oh. Yeah that." 

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

The look Castiel gives him makes any worry he could possibly have seem silly. Sucking at relationships is not going to be the reason they don't do that again. They are. They so are. "Don't worry. I got this really helpful advice today in dealing with this particular situation," he says. 

"Okay..." Castiel says, but after a second or two, he smiles to himself. He relaxes and lets Dean pull him down to the bed. 

"Man, Jessica’s going to be pissed," he says and turns onto his side, curling up against Castiel, relishing in the warmth of his body, hoping it isn't considering cuddling if they both just made it through the longest day ever. People have to sleep, right? 

As he yawns, rubbing his hand down Castiel's arm, tangling their fingers together as he stares into droopy blue eyes, he figures he will leave Sam to deal with Jessica. It may be his wedding day, but his brother owes him since this entire thing was his fault.

Dean hates it, but at some point, he's gonna have to tell Sam thank you.

*****

"Shit!"

A shout violently jolts Dean awake, and he sits up fast and confused about why there's someone in his house and why they're being so loud. Following the continued stream of curse words, he leans to look over the edge of the bed and sees a frantic Castiel scrambling to gather up his shoes and jacket. 

Oh right. He spent last night with Castiel Adams. 

Dean stares with huge eyes at Castiel. He suddenly remembers a lot of tongue and cuddling until they both passed out from lack of sleep. Since the night had ended on a rather orgasmically happy note, he is confused as to why Castiel is doing a ditch and run on him. 

"What're you doing?" he asks in a groggy voice. 

Castiel runs towards the bathroom as he points to the cellphone laying on the bed, slamming the door behind him. He hears water running soon after, and he would bet a hundred bucks that Castiel is freaking out in there. He shakes his head as he picks up the phone. The last text message is still called up on the screen. 

_”UR LATE!!! Crew wondering where U R. Limo will b @ Dean Winchester's house any minute. LMFAO. Ian."_

Dean is shocked that someone already knows. Castiel didn't call anyone. Dean didn't call anyone. Still, Ian has guessed correctly where Castiel spent last night which is very unsettling news. 

Castiel comes racing back out of the bathroom fully dressed, his hair damp and his tie crooked. 

"Uh, Cas. What's happening?" he asks, climbing out of bed. 

"I'm late." 

He walks over to where Castiel is hastily putting his shoes on. "Yeah, I get that. But why the panic exactly?" 

Castiel glances up for a brief moment with a big sigh. "Right. Well, we didn't talk about this. And I say this in the least egotistical way possible, I'm a celebrity. That puts me in the public eye which also puts my personal life in the public eye. I need to leave before anyone finds out where I am."

Dean frowns for a moment. He did actually forget about that, but he doesn't see the problem. He got it on with someone famous! "Anyone like who?" he asks. 

“Entertainment Tonight? E!News? US Weekly? TMZ? Take your pick."

"What?!"

Castiel heads for the bedroom door. "Exactly." 

Dean stands there freaking out before he remembers to run after Castiel. He catches up down the hallway. "But wait, wait, wait! What about us?"

"What _about_ us?" 

"I thought we could talk," Dean says completely lost. "Last night we…are we going out now?"

Castiel charges down the stairs. "I don't know. Dean, we can talk later." 

"There are lot of things worth discussing here. How about the fact that you live in Los Angeles and I live here?" 

"Okay, I actually hadn't considered the long distance thing," Castiel admits, but he doesn't offer any answers to this nor does he stop moving down the stairs. 

"And what about the whole _morning after_ thing, Cas? Shouldn't you be making me breakfast or offering me sex?" Dean asks with a pout. Isn't the whole point of relationships that the person hangs around after sexy fun times for more sexy fun times? That's what happens on TV. 

"God, what've I gotten myself into with you," Castiel mutters, and he spins around quickly once they reach the bottom step. "I'm sorry. Look we can shatter all your delusions about this later."

"But—" Dean is interrupted by a honking car horn.

Castiel immediately turns to leave. "I _really_ gotta go. It's almost ten, and you're probably late too."

"Cas!" He chases after him to the front door, but he's gone.

All Dean can do is sulk because what the fuck was that? He doesn't think Ian will tell anyone, but he knows there's a very real possibility this is going to come out eventually. He remembers that at some point he's going to have to tell Sam and the rest of his family that he’s not exactly straight. He isn't sure if he is more concerned about his family's reaction or about one day being featured on _E!_ as Castiel Adams's new mystery lover, but both ideas are giving him a headache. 

That's when Castiel bursts back through the door, looking like he forgot something. He doesn't even speak as he clutches Dean's cheek, pulling him forward to press his mouth against his, and is already halfway back through the door when he says, "Bye, Dean." 

And then he's gone again.

Dean grins and goes to get ready for the wedding. 

*****

"You're what?!" 

Dean winces. He just got through all the intimate details of yesterday and ended with the important one. Castiel and him are dating now. 

"I mean I haven't asked him about it, you know, _officially,_ but Castiel and I are going out." 

His brother's face contorts into an expression that indicates his brain shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

He did do Sam the favor of waiting until the reception to tell him about this new development. They are standing in a nearly deserted corner of the reception hall. He still pulls Sam further off to the side and says, "Keep your voice down."

Sam stares at him until he recovers enough to speak. "Why do you do shit like this, Dean?" And he suddenly looks pissed.

Dean blinks at him. "Um…sorry what?" 

Sam crosses his arms and makes a face. "All we tell you is that it's time to grow up and find someone nice. And you go off and sleep with a dude. You always do this." 

"When have I ever been with a guy before last night?" 

"You take normal, _rational_ advice, and you just go off and like twist it. Now we all look like idiots, and you're in an even more messy situation then you were before. What the hell, Dean?"

His brother isn't mad that he is with a guy, but Sam is upset he's with a guy because Dean’s a jerk who doesn't ever listen to him. Well, that's not as bad.

Sam shakes his head. "I can't believe you."

Dean opens his mouth and then quickly closes it again. He had this entire explanation prepared about how sexuality was a complicated thing and he was still working through it. This wasn’t just him being suddenly attracted to guys. Castiel was different. He was going to try to explain that to Sam, but apparently the explanation isn't needed. Sam doesn't seem that interested. 

"I did what you said!" Dean tells him. 

"Dude, you so did _not_ do what I said because you don't listen." 

"Is there a problem boys?" John Winchester walks up and places a hand on both Sam and Dean's shoulders. "Our guests are looking." 

Dean clears his throat. He was hoping to have Sam on his side about this Castiel thing before the rest of the family found out, but Sam still looks pretty mad. "No, sir. No problem. Right, Sammy?" 

"Sam?" John turns to look at his brother.

Dean rolls his eyes because Sam is such a little wuss. 

Sam blurts out without hesitation, "Dean is dating Castiel Adams." 

God, for as much complaining as Sam does about their dad, he can never lie to the man. "I am not!" Dean protests, except he is or hopes to be. However, the six year-old inside of him heard Sam say, "Dean is hitting me," so he denies it.

"Who is Castiel Adams?" John asks with the impatient sigh only a father could make. 

"My friend," Dean huffs.

"Castiel Adams is a guy, Dad. Dean's dating a guy." 

John looks at Dean with surprise. "A guy?"

Dean is frozen for a moment. Perhaps he didn't consider enough that his family might shun him for this. He stands up straighter and nods at his dad. 

John takes in that affirmation from Dean with a long questioning look before pursing his lips in thought. After a moment, John shakes his head and says, "Mary's right. I do need to spend more time with you boys. I thought you didn't have a girlfriend, Dean, because you were scared of getting too close to people." 

Sam snorts, choking back a laugh.

Dean sighs. 

"So what does this Castiel Adams do?" John asks. 

"Uh…he hosts a TV show?"

"Oh," John says, disapproving. 

Finally, Dean thinks. This isn't going like he expected. 

"When you're with someone, you need to have something in common with 'em, Dean. Your mother and I used to go camping together when we were younger. Jessica is going to Stanford with Sam here. You better be sure this will work out before you get mixed up in it."

Maybe his dad's right. How is he sure this will work out with Castiel? He isn't. The guy's life is on TV and in magazines. Dean works in the family business selling hunting equipment with his dad in Kansas. He doesn't travel. He isn't well read. He has few interests outside of food, his car, his family, beer, and women. While he supposes that last one won't matter as much now, he isn't sure Castiel shares any of the others. Castiel like clothes. Dean knows that much, which he definitely doesn't care about still. He is going into this based on nothing but a feeling and hope that it _could_ work out because he's never thought it would with anyone else in his life. He guesses that's going to have to do. Besides he's already got his mind set on it.

"I'm sure," he says. 

"Dean, what's wrong with you?" Suddenly, a hand smacks him on the shoulder, and his mother and his brand new sister-in-law walk up to them. "Kara told me what you said. You don't think it's going to work out?" Jessica asks, looking genuinely upset. 

"I might've said that," Dean says. 

Mary sighs in disappointment. "You didn't even give her a chance, Dean."

"Don't worry guys. Dean's found someone else." 

Dean looks at Sam with narrowed eyes. He is enjoying his discomfort a little too much. 

"Who?" Both Jessica and Mary ask at the same time. 

"Castiel Adams," Sam answers. 

There is a lengthy silence as the news digests, and Jessica and his mother look like two shocked goldfish searching for words. 

Dean shakes his head. His family is ruining his life. Except the part where their intrusive meddling allowed him to meet Castiel, but still they're ruining his life!

"Honey, that seems a little complicated for your first try." Mary strokes Dean's shoulder with a sympathetic smile like he needs the huge kid crayons while everyone else gets the regular ones. 

"Mom, it is complicated but—" Dean starts to say but then gets hit again. "Jessica!" 

"What did you do? Castiel is with Ethan. They're perfect together. I don't know what you did to him but _obviously_ he's confused. Sam, tell your brother to fix this!" 

Sam shrugs his shoulders. "He doesn't listen to me."

Dean breathes in hard through his nose. "Enough!" He fixes them all with a death glare. "Clearly, I'm the only one happy here. I think that serves you all right for signing me up for this stupid show in the first place. Next time maybe you'll stay out of my life. Now I'm going to the buffet. Come find me when you're all ready to act like normal people." 

And he walks off grumbling something about paying Sam back for this.

*****

Castiel and Ethan have just thanked Jessica and Sam Winchester for allowing _Boys Helping Boys_ to take over their wedding and Dean for being such a good sport. As the wedding party cheers and claps, Castiel glances at Dean standing with his family near the stag, and they catch each other's eyes for a second. He exits the stage steps with Ethan, thinking he should grab Dean now before he has to leave. 

"So is it true?" Ethan asks once they're off stage. 

He gulps because if Ethan knows then who else knows? "Is what true?" he asks casually as they stop walking. If Ethan does know about Dean, he'd rather not do this in the middle of the other guests. 

"I called Ian last night when I couldn't find you after the rehearsal. He said you met someone," Ethan says, looking down at the ground. 

A pit opens in Castiel’s stomach. He imagines that's how he probably looked yesterday when he found out about Ehtan moving on. The last thing he wants to do is make Ethan upset or hurt him. "I was. I was just—" he stutters, trying to find the right words.

"It's okay I'm fine, Cas. When I got back to the hotel I had time to think, you know? About why we broke up. I thought we'd made a mistake after what happened yesterday and I was going to see if you wanted to get back together, but I think that would've been wrong," Ethan says. 

Castiel bites his bottom lip. There's a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow as he looks at him. 

"At least we know it now. We got it right the first time." Ethan chuckles somewhat dejected.

"I think so." Castiel slides his fingers across the side of Ethan's face. 

"I wish it'd been different." 

"I did too, Ethan." 

When Ethan shifts to hug him, Castiel squeezes him back, curling into the familiar scent. A part of him wishes Ethan was the right person. They let each other go after a few moments, and Ethan smiles at him. This finally feels like closure, and maybe in the future he won't need to avoid Ethan, maybe one day they can be friends. 

"So we're sharing right?" Ethan raises an eyebrow at him. "Who's the guy? Don’t tell me it’s Julian…“ 

Castiel imagines Ethan wants to know who he managed to meet in one day, in Kansas. He decides the news will come out eventually, and he would rather Ethan heard it from him. "Dean," he says. 

"Dean?" Ethan makes a face and then his mouth drops open. "Dean Winchester?" 

"Yes."

"Oh my God!" 

"I know," Castiel holds a hand to his forehead with a sigh. "I know, Ethan, I know! What am I doing? How is this going work?" 

At the end of his outburst, Ethan pats him on the shoulder. "I don't know what you're doing," he says. "But I'm jealous I think." 

Castiel shakes his head. "Jealous? Of my mess?" 

"Well no, I can see it's not an ideal situation but…" Ethan follows Castiel's gaze over to where Dean is hovering nearby, talking with his brother. "You totally played dress up with him all afternoon and then took him home," he chuckles. 

"Thank you," Castiel says somberly but then smirks. Ethan's right. That's completely sex fantasy material. "I should go talk to him." 

Ethan nods back with an encouraging smile, and Castiel suddenly feels pretty damn good. 

*****

"Did anyone see you leave?" 

Castiel slams the door of Dean's car closed as he slides across the leather seat. "No. I circled the parking lot twice to make sure no one followed me." 

"What are you like James Bond now?"

"Dean." Castiel leans forward. "No one else can know I'm here." 

"I get it, okay?" Dean sighs as he looks away. 

An awkward silence falls over the car. Their secret rendezvous in the dark parking lot is the first time they have been alone since this morning. Between Sam and Jessica's wedding and filming the last few segments of the show, there was no time. Now is their chance to get everything out in the open, but talking isn't as interesting as staring at their hands apparently.

Castiel figures he's the one with the most experience. He should go first. "We don't—" 

Dean cuts in, "Wait. Wait before all that, can I…? Lemme double-check something." He slides across the seat to bring Castiel into a kiss. His lips are warm and searching, as if he knows the answer he needs is there and he's determined to find it.

Castiel stills, lips yielding until he moans gently into Dean's mouth, unable to help his own response. 

"Mmmph…" Dean's fingers flex through Castiel’s hair and he releases his grip in a swift motion. He blinks then he covers his mouth with his fingers, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb as he scoots away. It's the first time Dean's looked appropriately freaked out by what they're doing. "I only did the show because of Sam."

Castiel shakes himself out of a kiss-induced stupor. "We don't have to—"

"I didn't really expect to meet anyone," Dean says to the steering wheel. 

On the way over, he told himself not to expect anything, not to get his hopes up, but a momentary feeling of disappointment knocks something loose inside of him. "Dean—" He reaches forward to touch his shoulder so he'll look up. "We don't have to do this. Last night, it doesn't have to mean…" he trails off because he can't bring himself to say last night didn't mean anything. "We can still walk away from here," he says.

Dean hangs his head. "Man, you've gotta stop saying that or I'm gonna start to think it's me. I know I'm a little out of my league here, but I thought everything was okay, um, when we were you know together."

Castiel hesitates for a moment, but the truth is easier. "It was amazing."

"Amazing," Dean repeats, a hint of a cocky smirk passing over his lips.

Castiel rolls his eyes but doesn't allow himself to be sidetracked. "It was okay for you?"

"Yeah," Dean answers. 

"So we're both saying…" 

"I'm saying being with you was the best thing that's happened to me in a long time, and would all of this have been easier if you were a woman? Probably. But…" Dean gaze lifts, and the golden flecks in his green eyes reflect off the white headlights from a passing car. "I'm more pissed about the fact that you live halfway across the country. That really sucks, you know?" 

Falling, Castiel realizes, is what this feeling is like his feet aren't touching the ground because it isn't even there anymore. This thing with Dean is as frightening as it is exciting, but he fights to keep a level head, not wanting to get carried away. "I can call you," he says. "If that's something you want." 

"So we like exchange phone numbers and call each other every day just to say hi?" Dean asks with a skeptical laugh.

"I really don't know how any of this is going to work," Castiel admits. It isn't only Dean's blossoming sexual orientation they need to worry about. It's the fact that Castiel lives in California and that he's famous and he's still technically on the rebound. It's the fact that Dean's never been in a relationship and, up until now, he liked it that way. It's all of it.

"But we're going to try it anyway?" Dean asks. "Try this you and me thing?" 

"It appears so, doesn't it?" Castiel isn't sure whether to be happy or what that they are both out of their minds. 

"I'm dating someone," Dean says to himself then looks over. "That means I can kiss you now."

Castiel flushes at the word kiss. "Yes," he says. "You can."

"Good," Dean breathes out as though that's all he's been waiting to do. 

They meet in the middle of the seat with frenzied hands and lips, gasping between long kisses. Pressed against one another, side to side and hip to hip. They kiss for a long time until the inside of Dean's car is steamy, kiss and kiss until Castiel remembers he can't stay. 

"I have to go," he mutters. 

"You always have to go." Dean clutches his hands around Castiel's face tighter as he kisses him again.

Heat snakes down Castiel's spine. He is dizzy so close to Dean, close enough to smell leather wafting off his skin, to savor the gentle scratch of five o'clock shadow on his cheek. Without all the emotion of last night, this feels more intimate. 

"I know but this time I actually need to get on a plane." 

"Yeah, you do," Dean says against the folds of Castiel's neck, placing small kisses there like they have the rest of the night to do this. 

It isn't fair that they don't. He lets Dean kiss him for a few more seconds until a hand glides downward towards his zipper. "Dean, not here someone will see. I need to go, but I will call you tomorrow." Castiel grabs Dean's hand to stop him. "I promise." 

"Yeah, yeah. Okay." Dean shifts away leaving the air cool. 

Castiel inhales because he can breathe again. He hopes Dean isn't worrying that he might not call. If anything he's worried that when he does, Dean will have changed his mind. There are hundreds of miles between Los Angeles and Kansas, and too much time between now where they can kiss and touch and make promises and tomorrow when they're alone. 

"Well…" Dean sits back. "At least I can wear what I want again, right?" 

Castiel smiles, trying not to think about how easy it is to fall back into old habits. "I guess now I can't stop you." 

"Nope." Dean grins. "You sure can't." 

There's a long pause, neither ready to say goodbye first, before Castiel moves to open the door. Tomorrow he'll call and Dean will answer. Tomorrow. He leans over for another kiss before exiting the car. He bends to look inside and says, "Goodbye, Dean."

"Later, Cas." 

He smiles as he walks away, telling himself not to look back. He is halfway to the reception hall when he suddenly finds himself face-to-face with Julian worst-one-night-stand-in-history Taylor. He groans at the sight of him. 

Julian stands there, arms folded over his chest, still wearing his ridiculous black beret, smirking an evil smirk at him. "Where have you been Castiel?" he sing-songs.

Castiel knows he knows. Julian knows Dean and him were together, just what he doesn't need. "Don't say anything," he warns, stalking around him. Up ahead, Ian and Ethan are waiting near one of the limos to shuttle everyone to the airport. 

"Well, Cas. Looks like you by passed boring and opted for insane." Julian reaches for his arm and says almost seriously, "I knew he'd pick you," before dodging out of the way of Castiel's smack with a childish laugh. 

He doesn't even want to think about how long Julian has known about this. All he wants to do is get back home to Los Angeles, the land of the living and beautiful people, even though none of that matters now. He wants to go home so it can be tomorrow already. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean isn't a first date type of guy. 

The truth is he's never had very many, aside from the few occasions over the years he's given in to being set-up. When left to his own devices, though, he normally combines the ritual of meeting and sleeping with someone into one night. Actually now that he thinks about it, Castiel was no exception to that rule. The only difference being that the two of them are going out again for real or going out for the first time. It depends on how you look at it. 

Three weeks ago, they spent one weird and amazing day together, and the next day they decided it wouldn't so bad if they spent more time together. If they started going out. Dean isn't sure if that means they're boyfriends though. He thinks so. He agreed to come to Los Angeles for this date because they might be boyfriends. If he was confident in that fact, this limo ride would certainly be more comfortable. He also wouldn't have nervously sat through dinner thinking to himself the entire time that he better not fuck this up because there's a chance he could really fuck this up.

It isn't just him. 

Earlier, after finally making it to Castiel's apartment, they had greeted each other with this half-hug-half-kiss-on-the-cheek _thing_ that left Dean, honestly confused. Maybe they don't know how to act around each other because in reality they've only known each other for two days.

Two days, three _weeks_ ago.

It probably doesn’t help either that they only had time to chat a few times since then. The deal his father had been negotiating to expand their business into Oklahoma went through, so Dean was unexpectedly busier than usual. With Castiel's hectic filming schedule, there wasn't much time for phone calls. Still, he doesn’t know what he expected dating Castiel to be like, but he thought it'd be less awkward and less careful.

“Are we going somewhere else?" It's been ten minutes since they left the restaurant, and he frowns inwardly once he realizes that's the first time either of them have spoken since they got back in the limo. 

Castiel turns away from gazing out the window to look at him. "Drinks? I guess," he says after a moment.

Dean shrugs with a nod. Liquor sounds fantastic especially if the rest of the night is going to go like this.

Thirty minutes later, they walk into a very crowded lounge club called Iris. He isn't surprised to find, even though there's a line hooking around the block, there's an open and somewhat secluded booth waiting on them. They hadn’t waited on a table at that fancy restaurant either. Everyone keeps looking at him as if they are supposed to know his face since he is with Castiel, but instead, rightly so, they have no clue who the hell he is.

They order a round of drinks and sit in polite silence waiting and people watching, deciding whose turn it is to talk. Neither of them see Ian until he's already plopped himself down next to Castiel. He is laughing on the phone, holding a rather loud conversation. A second later, Ian hangs up and grins at them both, ignoring Castiel's glare. 

"Oh my god, I just met the most gorgeous guy, Cas. If it was biologically possible, I'd have his baby," he says. 

"Ian!" Castiel looks like he wants to crawl under the table and die. 

The waiter has now returned with their drinks, and Ian plucks the olive from one of the glasses and eats it. "How's the date going?" he asks. 

"Why are you here?" Castiel asks him clearly pissed.

Ian holds up his hands like he hadn't meant any offense. "Cas, come on. You know this is my first stop on Saturday night. Don't act like I'm stalking you. I saw you two come in and thought I'd say hi." 

Castiel hesitantly meets Dean's eyes before glancing at the table. 

Well, that confirms Dean’s thoughts from earlier. This isn't going exactly as planned, and there’s a very good chance Castiel might be trying to ditch him. That's never happened to him before. Great.

"We're fine. Dinner was nice," Castiel answers after a moment, and he looks over at Dean. 

Dean agrees feeling like he should. "Yeah, the food was great," he says, taking a sip of his drink. 

Ian gives Castiel a look. "Sounds…fun."

Castiel's jaw tightens, and he asks, "Anything else Ian?"

Ian stares at Dean with this weird look. "Yeah," he says and suddenly moves to get up. "There's a couple of network people here tonight. Castiel, it'd be good if you made an appearance."

Castiel looks up at him like he has no clue what Ian's saying. "Network people?"

"Yes, important network people." Ian grabs Castiel's arm and starts to haul him out of the booth. 

Dean sits at attention when he realizes they're leaving. Is he really getting ditched? That would be bad. All of his bags are at Castiel's place.

"Alright," Castiel says confused, but he stops to look at Dean. "Is this okay? I think we'll be right back."

"Fifteen minutes tops," Ian says. 

Dean sighs. It's not like Castiel would miss anything here with him. "Yeah, sure. Don't worry about it." He smiles lightly at him.

"I'll be right back. I promise." Castiel slides out of the booth, and Dean watches as they disappear through the crowd until he can't see them anymore.

He doesn't see them again for forty-five minutes, and they don't come back. He feels like an idiot the longer he sits there, waiting. He definitely needs another drink, but when it became obvious that Castiel wasn't returning, the waiter had stopped paying attention to him. 

After a few minutes of looking, he finally spots Ian and Castiel at the bar near the back of the club. A handful of empty shot glasses sit in front them, and Ian notices him first and smiles broadly at him. 

Yes, he is a huge idiot. Dean thumps one of the glasses with his finger. "So these are the important network people?"

"Look who I found, Cas, it's Dean Winchester." Ian puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder and spins him around. 

Dean is immediately concerned when Castiel makes a _whoo_ noise at Ian's announcement, and it's only then that he notices Castiel is clinging to the bar for dear life.

His could-be boyfriend is drunk, and this might be the worst date in history. 

Castiel falls forward when he moves towards him. "Hellooo, Dean."

"Easy, there." Dean grabs Castiel’s arm to keep him upright. "What the hell!" He buckles under the dead weight of Castiel hanging off his shoulder. "You guys weren't even gone that long." 

Ian lazily stirs a straw around the drink in front of him and then stops to smirk at Dean. "One thing you should know about Cas, tequila is not his friend."

Dean pats Castiel's face with his hand a few times, and his blue bloodshot eyes eventually focus. Castiel grins like he's feeling no pain. "You're so hot," he slurs happily.

Dean rolls his eyes. "If you knew that, why'd you give it to him?"

Ian laughs with a shrug. "Oh, I don't know. _Look_ at him."

Castiel plants his face against Dean with a soft sigh. Dean pushes him away, but Castiel is rather persistent even in his inebriated state with the path he's kissing hotly down his neck. 

Ian looks satisfied. "See? Castiel just needed to relax."

Dean pries the lips sucking on his neck off of him. "He's wasted," he says. 

"Yep." Ian steps back from the bar.

"No. You stay with Cas while I get them to bring the car," he says. 

A few minutes later, the limo pulls around to the side parking lot, and Ian and Castiel come stumbling out of the club laughing and tripping all over themselves. 

Dean walks over to them. "This is great," he says, shaking his head. Ian hands Castiel over to him because the guy is still so out of it he can barely stay upright. He begins to walk him back to the limo.

As he opens the door, Ian calls out to him, "Cas doesn't want to push you into this, Dean." He comes up then looking much less drunk than he did a few seconds ago. "He is waiting for you to change your mind. Which I guess, given your history, I don't blame him for that."

Dean swallows a tightness down his throat. 

"Trust me, he's given plenty of thought about you having absolutely no idea what the hell you're doing but..." Ian trails off with smile. "Cas likes you."

"Okay," Dean answers dumbly. He shifts to lift Castiel back up where he has started to slide out of his grip.

"You don't have to worry if this is going to work yet. The beginning is _supposed_ to be fun. You wouldn't of come all this way if you didn't want to be with him so relax." Ian smiles at him again and then walks away, disappearing back into crowded club. 

Dean forces Castiel into the limo, and he falls into the seat with a heavy sigh. This night wasn't what he expected. It was awkward and actually horrible. If Ian's words weren't still echoing through his head, tonight would have confirmed for him that maybe he isn't meant to be someone's boyfriend. 

What is worse though, Castiel isn't even awake to see the end of their very first date because they don't make it two blocks before he passes out against Dean's shoulder.

*****

"Nnngh,” Castiel groans. He throws the covers off of his body, and when he sits up, a pain shoots through his skull. He is definitely hungover. "Oh God.” He clutches his hands around his face, hoping that’ll stop the hammering. Then he remembers. 

Dean.

He panics when he sees the bags still piled in the corner. Dean is insane for staying, absolutely insane. He falls back on the bed with a dejected thump, hating his life. Since he woke up in his own bed, he assumes Dean had to drag him to his apartment, and he's too embarrassed to even think about the fact that he’s been changed into a shirt and boxers. Last night didn’t go well, and he's going to kill Ian when he sees him. 

"You're awake.” 

Castiel lifts one eye open and sees Dean standing in the bedroom doorway, hair ruffled from sleep, wearing a black t-shirt and track pants. "At least tell me I didn't throw up," he mutters. Maybe his bed will swallow him. 

"You definitely threw up."

Castiel groans again and pulls a pillow over his face. 

"Here," Dean says after a moment and pushes a glass of water and two small white pills towards him when Castiel uncovers his face. 

He takes them because his head is killing him. Though this splitting headache has more to do with the fact that he made a fool of himself and ruined everything. He shifts and rests against the headboard as he pops the pills into his mouth.

Dean sits on the bed. "You also told me I was hot and, um, very publicly displayed your affections about that." 

At that fascinating tidbit of information, he gargles up his water, almost choking, but keeps drinking until the entire glass is empty. Then he looks at Dean, pressing his lips together to hold back a hysterical outburst. 

Dean takes the glass away to place it on the nightstand. "How do you feel?" 

"Like shit." Castiel immediately starts to apologize for his stupidity. "Last night—"

"Cas." Dean cuts him off. He shrugs. "Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't—"

Dean leans in to kiss him. He shifts on top of Castiel, knees locking around his hips, and kisses him again. 

This isn’t the proper response Dean should be having to this situation. This is the exact opposite response. Castiel sighs, trying to make sense of it but comes away with nothing. His mouth opens without resistance because even though this doesn't make sense it’s still hot. "What's going on?" he asks. 

"Cas." Dean pulls up for a moment, green eyes pining Castiel down. "Shut up," he demands. "I've been thinking about doing this for three weeks. But when I got here I got sidetracked and stupid. I leave in a few hours so if you don't mind I want to..." he trails off to stare at Castiel's mouth and then peers up checking for an answer. 

Yesterday, Castiel hadn’t known what to do either once Dean arrived, and the whole first date thing had seemed so important. He doesn’t know what to say, so he simply nods. 

Dean holds up, grinning. "By the way? Ian told me you like me."

His eyes fall closed, mortified. He's going to kill Ian. Dig a hole in the ground and bury him alive. The only reason he doesn't is because Dean has him pinned down. 

Dean's broad chest covers him securely, their lower stomaches pressed together as Dean tangles his fingers through bed-mussed hair, holding the back of Castiel's neck with calloused hands. He slips his tongue inside, tasting, until Castiel sinks into the sheets and the tension seeps out of him. 

In seconds, Castiel is gone. His skin hot under the fingers tracing down his arms. The woody scent of Dean all over him, his mouth dangerously sweet. Dean's hand is firm on his elbow, the other hooked behind his jaw and ear, turning him so he can kiss a line from the quivering knob of his throat up to his earlobe. 

"Here's the thing…" Dean breathes the words against Castiel’s eardrum, sending a wonderful spark straight to his curling toes. Dean releases his arm to bunch Castiel’s thin shirt in his fingers, twisting it up to reveal fine muscles. He flattens and circles a hand around his stomach, touching Castiel in such a sexy way that he grows hard between his legs. 

"I like you too," he says into his ear. 

He shudders as Dean drops more kisses along his neck, his top lip brushing skin as he moves. Dean sits up and runs his eyes over the half-exposed body between his legs, and Castiel can't help but wonder how different he must look from the gentle curves he's used to seeing. But Dean licks his lips open, and Castiel isn’t sure what to do besides burn beneath the gaze being directed at him, not sure he remembers the last time someone’s looked at him like this. 

Dean skims his hands along his sides, sending Castiel's belly button rolling helplessly into his spine, his skin dancing beneath the strong touch. Dean moves his hands up and Castiel's shirt goes with them. He tosses it over his shoulder and looks at what he's uncovered, and oh God, he smirks. 

His mouth goes dry watching how Dean moves, confident and steady, taking his time. The soft bite of supple lips when he puts his hands on him again as if that alone is doing it for him. Which turns Castiel on even more, the tightness in his cock aching now as he desperately tries to hold himself together. Dean is making it so hard, working under his skin, stirring him up like always.

Dean bends to swirl his tongue over perked nipples, his eyes glued to his as he does it, out to prove something or out to drive him insane, it's hard to tell which. Castiel whimpers in the back of his throat. 

Nuzzling under his arm, Dean inhales his scent with a sigh. Bites into his sides, hard flesh scraping between teeth and tongue. He nibbles the tender hollows of his hip bones, holding him down, only to do it harder the second time. He tastes every inch of him methodically as though there's a list in his head of everywhere he's waited weeks to explore. By the time he's finished, his touch forces the moans from Castiel, wrecking him until he shutters, fisting the undone sheets in his hands, frustrated that every time he tries to reciprocate Dean pins his wrists down. 

"Let me touch you," Castiel begs. His hair, his chest, his arms, his back. He's desperate to get his hands anywhere. He wants the control back. 

Dean releases him but Castiel's fingertips barely catch his cheek before he backs off the bed. The nightstand being opened makes Castiel turn just in time to see Dean swiftly remove all his clothes, shirt then pants, dropping them to the floor in a kicked-aside pile. 

He peers up at him, at his flushed shoulders, at the glistening length of him, at the excited breathes he's taking. He looks into Dean's eyes, and he looks back with a hesitant smile. Dean wants this, his entire body, every muscle, showing he does, but only if Castiel does too. 

Something in his chest flinches at the thought that Dean doesn't know how much he wants this to work. Why didn't he say that the moment Dean showed up? Why isn't he saying it now? "Hurry. Please hurry," he croaks out, giving in and brushing a hand across the arousal in his shorts.

Dean goes around and crawls up the bed on his knees. He wastes no time in relieving Castiel of his remaining clothes, in getting a hand between his thighs, in cupping the base of him for a few seconds. Then _goddamn_ , Dean puts his mouth on him. Sucking the flushed crown with a flourish of his tongue. Licking wet lines underneath. Sheathing half of him in his mouth and taking more and more with gentle bobs of his head. Castiel lifts up into the amazing hotness of his throat, into the sure fingers grazing over top then spiraling down, and he moans brokenly as Dean pulls off, his lips swollen red by the time he does. 

Foil crinkles loud in the still room followed by the plastic pop of a lid. Dean fusses with the bottle for a few seconds then holds himself up with his knuckles as he leans in, and an oily wetness is slicked down Castiel’s skin. Dean teases his fingers around the tight heat, sighing when he slowly eases a finger in and out as muscles stretch open. His eyes never leave Castiel's, watching closely as he discovers the feeling of him. 

Castiel mashes lips together, rubbing his own body, his stomach and chest, every tingling inch of skin utterly desirable in Dean's hands. His teeth clinch when another finger presses inside, faster this time, searching for a rhythm. 

"Please don't stop," he says. He reaches for Dean, his hands going around his face, thankful he's allowed to this time. He devours him with kisses, sucking on his lips and on his tongue. “I want you,” he mutters drunkenly into Dean's mouth so there's no mistake and gasps when fingers delve inside him again. 

He wraps his feet behind Dean's thighs, bringing him down, intertwining their bodies together. The center of him is on fire when Dean's fingers fall free, and he hugs his arms around him. Gliding their hips together with their cocks side by side. The delicious friction yanks the breath from him, from them both, and neither of them will last much longer. 

Castiel finds the sticky bottle lost in the heated sheets and takes Dean in his hands, relishing in the sharp catch of his breath, and it's difficult not to finish him off right then. Instead, he moves away with his feet flat on the mattress.

Dean crouches over him and takes his knees over his shoulders, folding Castiel backwards, and kisses him once on the lips. He guides the head of his cock against him. Inching in, little by little, until they are one. They suck in hard breaths overcome for a few seconds at the contact, and Dean is shaking. Then thrusting. Short sweet snaps. 

Dean pants, "Yeah yeah. Oh fuck yes. Fuck," as his thumbs and fingers dig indentions in Castiel's hips catching his breath during long strokes where he watches their bodies meet. Hitting something white hot when he thrusts in again deeper and deeper, making Castiel claw into his skin enough to bruise. 

As he rides the dizzying pressure, Castiel closes a hand around himself desperate for release. He only needs three lazy fists and milky ribbons shoot up his stomach. He is incredible and empty and exhaustedly happy when minutes later Dean presses into him once more and comes too with a euphoric shout. Afterwards, the musky smell of their sweat lingers in the air as they collapse, each of them out of breath. 

Dean rolls onto his back. “Jesus,” he says with his chest heaving, swiping at his brow with his palm. He looks at Castiel beside him. “I feel like I got hit with a really big bus. Let’s do that again.”

Even though Castiel’s thigh muscles are still trembling, his body achy and pleasantly numb, the idea doesn’t sound half bad. However, he can’t actually move. "I'm sorry about last night," he says once his voice returns. "I should've said this freaks me out." 

Dean lifts his head a little. "I do, you mean?"

He touches Dean’s face. "No, that isn't what I meant. But when you got here, you were really here and we were doing this. I suppose I got scared." 

"I scare you?" Dean's lips twist with soft amusement. "Oh buddy, you should've seen me on that plane."

"I do like you, Dean, very much. But everything's happened so fast, I need time to adjust. I'm sorry," he apologizes again. 

Dean puts his hand over his. "Hey, what do you say we take this one day at time? I have no clue what this is yet either, but we'll figure it out."

Ugh. Dean is so irritatingly rational over this for someone that's never been in a relationship with anyone, and Castiel stares, wondering if he's going to be really impressive at this whole thing just to exasperate him. "Yes. Fine. We'll do that then," he says stiffly. 

"Awesome." Dean grins and leans over to smack a kiss on his cheek. He arches an eyebrow. "So. Cas. You've gotten in my pants _again_ which means I think you owe me breakfast. Last time you got off cheap, man." He slides off the bed patting his stomach. "I'm starving."

Castiel laughs as he comes up the side. "So all I need to do is feed you after sex to keep you happy?"

Dean pulls him off the bed. "Yeah," he says, wrapping his arms around his waist. "You're lucky I'm easy."

He smiles. Unlike Dean, he has no need for breakfast. He's already happier than he's been in a long while. "Lucky is one word for it," he agrees. 

"See now." Dean grabs his hand, dragging them off, both of them guiding the other into new places. "If you keep looking at me like that, you're gonna get lucky again in the shower." 

*****

"Ian!" Castiel lunges across the table for his cellphone since Ian has taken it upon himself to read the text message he just received. He knew he shouldn't have invited his meddlesome friend to lunch. 

Pulling the cellphone close to his body and out of reach, Ian taps the screen with his fingertip while grinning from ear to ear. Then his face falls flat, and he simply hands back the device to Castiel with a disappointed sigh.

"I can't get away from the store in the morning. Sam's picking you up from the airport." Ian tosses a sideways glance at Ethan, who at least has the courtesy to look disapproving. "That's so domestic, Cas."

"Don't start." Castiel flicks through the screens to reply to the message. He places the phone gently next to his plate but doesn't move his hand, protecting it in case Ian gets any other bright ideas.

"At least tell me that thing's tainted from all the phone sex you two are having," Ian says, swirling a fry through a blob of ketchup.

"It's my turn to go to him," Castiel explains to Ethan.

"Oh my God, they totally fuck on the phone," Ian declares.

Castiel sighs but doesn't deny or confirm it. He wouldn't give Ian the satisfaction. Besides, Dean and Castiel don't have phone sex. Well not exactly. Dean calls late a night to bug Castiel about why they don't once a week. He thinks it's Dean's hobby when he’s bored or out of food in the fridge. It be okay if Castiel could drive across town and act out all the things Dean suggests they do on those lonely nights. Instead, it works them both up. That's why when Castiel does get to Kansas tomorrow, Dean has an awful lot of promises to keep, and he intends to hold him to every single one. However, he isn’t sharing that fact with the lunch table, especially when that table includes Ian. He can never be sure that it won’t end up on _E!_ by the end of the day. 

"How's it going with you two?" Ethan inquires with a smile, poking his fork a couple of times into his salad. "It's been what…? Four months?"

Castiel takes in the expression on Ethan's face carefully. They are friends now, more than they ever were while they were dating. Still, it's a little awkward to be discussing Dean with his ex-boyfriend because it wasn't that long ago that he was pining over him. 

“Yes, almost," he says. Four months? It still seems like the entire thing with Dean has barely gotten off the ground. Maybe it's because they don’t see one another that often. 

“They’re in hiding so Cas doesn’t like to share.” Ian reaches over to push Castiel playfully in the arm, and Ethan laughs. “He sleeps with a guy like Dean Winchester and I’ve yet to get any details out of him. It’s killing me.” 

Ian’s frown is a victory; he meddles way too much in his life. However, something inside urges him to explain the secrecy. 

It isn't that he is keeping Dean a secret. He's just limiting the public details. That's why Castiel Adams, the celebrity version, is still single and heartbroken over his co-host Ethan Kelly. In fact, Castiel doesn't think he's said Dean's name to anyone besides the two interested parties at the table. As far as anyone else knows, that guy walking behind him in those paparazzi pictures a while back was just a random club-goer. Even the article had suggested as much, stating, _”Castiel Adams spent a night out on the town, while his Boys Helping Boys co-star Ethan Kelly visited NYC to see his new boy toy fashion photographer Leslie Stevenson.”_

For once, wrong assumptions were fine as far as Castiel was concerned, but when that edition of _Us Weekly_ hit newsstands, Dean griped about his name not even being mentioned. "We left together," he had grumbled, tossing the magazine away in offense. 

Castiel reminded Dean about what happens when the media knows your name. He had played that game with Ethan already. He lived out their entire relationship—the beginning, middle, and definitely the end—in front of the entire country. He's determined not to make Dean do that until he’s ready. 

He looks between both of his friends. “We’re not in hiding, as you say, we’re just keeping things low profile," he says. He doesn’t owe anyone any explanations, but if the roles were reversed, he’d be pumping Ian for details too. The entire thing was like something out of a movie. 

“Low profile is good.” Ethan shares a small knowing smile. “Don’t listen to Ian.” 

Ian shakes his head, but then he adds quickly, “Wait. Dean’s not like in for _real_ hiding, right?”

“No! Definitely not. His family knows about us. It’s actually easier in Lawrence," Castiel says. 

“Well so, I don’t get it. You realize when this story breaks, you’re going to sell tons of covers. With the premiere in a couple months, I can’t tell you how good all that free press would be for ratings," Ian says, eyes growing wide at the thought. 

“That’s the problem.” Castiel puts his fork down, no longer hungry. The idea of using Dean turns his stomach, but he knows what Ian meant to say, badly worded or not. “Whenever this comes out and we all know it will eventually, it’s going to be a circus. Maybe Dean doesn’t really get that. Or maybe he does. He’s the one who asked me not to say anything.” 

“He did?” Ethan asks his smile downcast. 

“Yes.” Castiel nods. “And I don’t care if that’s him keeping me a secret. I’m doing what Dean asked. It’s the least I can do for ruining his life, you know, whenever that day comes.”

“You didn’t ruin his life,” Ethan says earnestly. “You seem happy. I’m sure Dean is too.” 

“Maybe.” Castiel fiddles with napkin on his lap so he doesn’t have to look either one of them in the eye.

“Can I give you some advice?” Ian crunches through a french fry. 

“No.” 

“Well, I’m going to anyway," Ian says, leaning forward with a smug smile. "Cas, listen to me, I understand what you’re both trying to do. And this is the publicist in me talking not the part of me that will laugh my ass off when you two end up on the cover of _People._ You can’t let the media control when this comes out. What if one day someone figures out that you’re making all these day trips to Kansas? Or you get caught kissing him or something? It will be front page news and a manhunt. Who is Castiel Adams’ new secret boyfriend? But if you decide to scoop them all, it probably won’t seem quite as scandalous.” 

“Scoop them?” Castiel raises an eyebrow. For all of his nonsense, sometimes brilliance comes out of Ian’s mouth. It’s frustrating and more than a little annoying. “You’re saying…”

“I’m saying red carpet, Cas. Dress him up and take him out. For real.” Ian punctuates his statement with a pointed drink from his glass of wine.

“Red carpet…” Castiel repeats and then looks over for a second opinion.

Ethan shrugs. “He’d probably look really good in a tux.” 

*****

“They’re up next!” Jessica squeals when the title cards flash across the bottom of the screen. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t go." Sam looks at Dean. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean doesn’t answer. What was he thinking turning down Castiel’s invitation? He had assumed a Hollywood awards ceremony just wasn’t his thing. However, ever since the entire cast of _Dr. Sexy M.D_ showed up on the pre-show, he has been kicking himself. Just think. He could've been standing right there and seen Dr. Sexy up close. Not that he would’ve cared. He definitely only watches that show when things get slow at the store. It isn't his fault they show re-runs of it every single day. He shifts uncomfortably because Sam is giving him this incredulous stare like he can hear his thoughts or something. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t go either,” Jessica says, shaking her head. 

“That’s because you’re like an insane fan person,” Dean responds, settling back into the cushion. “By the end of the night, security would’ve escorted you home.” 

“Oh! Oh my God!” Jessica flails. “There they are!” 

Castiel Adams and Ethan Kelly enter on the television screen. The grinning reporter pulls them both up onto a small stage area, exchanging greetings and pleasantries. Dean frowns to cover up the fact that he may start smiling like an idiot because the dude he’s sleeping with is on TV right now. Looking far hotter than is fair in that suit. Now he really wishes he had gone. 

“God,” Sam grunts. “You’re like drooling over Cas. That’s so…just…prepare for future blackmail.” He dodges Jessica’s hand where she’s swatting him on the shoulder to quiet him down. 

“Shut up, I can’t hear!” Jessica shouts. 

They watch as the reporter inquires after designer names, and Castiel and Ethan gush over their suits and then the reporter’s dress for a few seconds. It’s sad that Dean isn't even rolling his eyes at this. 

“They look great," Jessica sighs, and Sam throws an arm around her and pulls her tightly against his side, probably hoping she doesn’t start drawing hearts and flowers around Castiel and Ethan like she always does. 

Dean ignores them both as the reporter's conversation turns to _Boys Helping Boys_ for a couple of questions. Castiel and Ethan encourage everyone to watch the new season, and they promise tons of surprises. Castiel tells her their makeover guests are great this season. 

“Sweet," Sam awes. 

“Fuck off.” 

Then there’s a pause as Castiel and Ethan look at each other, clearly thinking the interview is over. However, the reporter tugs Ethan by the elbow and leans into him like she’s whispering, and asks him about what she calls “his new lover boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes when Jessica heaves a sad sigh. 

Ethan muddles through a polite answer as best he can, and then she turns to Castiel. 

Dean's throat tightens before she even asks the question supposedly on every fan's mind. _Are you seeing anyone right now?_ He waits with a held breath, as Castiel shakes his head, casually shrugging his shoulders, and gives an adamant no. Even though Dean knows what Castiel’s answer is going to be, his face still falls. 

The reporter hums and haws over Ethan and Castiel once last time and then they’re both gone and the program goes on commercial. They all sit there in awkward silence, as Jessica and Sam half-watch the TV and half-watch Dean for a reaction. 

It’s uncomfortable so he stands up. “We’re out of beer," he says then marches off in the direction of the kitchen. 

As he pulls out the beer case from the fridge, he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. It’s what they decided to do, to keep this thing low-profile. It made sense. So why does he feel like hitting something right now? 

“Are you okay?” 

Sam’s voice draws him out of his thoughts, and Dean realizes he’s been standing uselessly at the counter. He quickly grabs a bottle, ignoring his brother. 

“Dean.” 

He glances at Sam, and he’s got his let's-talk-about-this face on. He points a finger at him and gruffly responds, “No.” 

“You’re not okay?” 

“No. I mean _no._ Sam, we’re not talking about Cas,” he says, opening his bottle against the edge of the counter. 

“You're ridiculous, you know that?” Sam says, sounding both annoyed and amused. “You spend most of your life over-sharing about one-night stands and hook-ups but now you don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I’m fine.” He is fine. Really. He knows Castiel only lied because he asked him to do it. Still, there’s this small nagging feeling in his stomach like something isn’t right. 

“Did you know he was going to say that?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. I did.” 

Sam nods his head seemingly content to believe him. “I don’t understand. Are you worried about this? Because before I was just egging you on, dude. I think all of this and Cas has been really good for you.” 

“Come on, Sam, don’t start,” Dean groans, walking off. 

Sam follows after him. “No, I’m serious. I didn’t say anything, but you _probably_ should’ve gone tonight. Don’t ruin a good thing because you’re worried about people finding out you’re with a guy. That’s stupid.” 

Dean turns back. “I don’t fucking care about that. Good enough?” 

“What then?” Sam asks.

He sighs in frustration. His brother is such an annoying thorn in his ass. “Look around you, Sam, we live in Lawrence, Kansas. You and Jess, you’re going off to school and moving to California. Still. We’re not exactly living the celebrity life here. That whole…” Dean gestures his hand dismissively. “…Hollywood thing. It’s just not us. It’s definitely not me.”

“Yeah, but that whole Hollywood thing? It’s Cas,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow at the confused expression on Dean’s face. “You think I like watching _Boys Helping Boys_ every week. No offense, but the show is crap. I do it because Jessica likes it. Suck it up, dude. Once you're in a relationship, you do what you’ve gotta do.” 

“But this is more than just pretending to like something. I end up on _Entertainment Tonight_ if I do this.”

“So what?” Sam shrugs. “I saw your face back there. You like him, and it’s only natural you want other people to know you’re together.” 

“Huh,” Dean hums thoughtfully. After a moment, he realizes Sam’s right. “You being a sap finally comes in handy. After all these years.”

“Funny,” Sam says annoyed. “I’m not the one wishing my boyfriend said he loved me on TV.” For which he gets firmly punched in the arm.

*****

Sam flops onto his new couch with a giant smile on his face. They are out of his parent’s house, and he couldn't be more ecstatic. Ever since they returned from their honeymoon, they had been staying in Lawrence until they found their own place. The wedding seems ages ago, but now it's really over. They made it to Stanford last week, and their lives can begin. 

“There they are!” Jessica exclaims. 

He smiles at his wife, thinking how lucky he is, before he glances back at the TV. What he sees blows his mind. Castiel Adams and his brother. His brother is on TV. His brother is on a red carpet. In a tux, not looking like a barbarian. His brother beside his date. His famous celebrity date. This is weird.

“Wow,” Jessica mutters under her breath.

“What?” Sam asks, shaking his head. When all of this started, he never expected Dean to get serious about Castiel, but somehow they work together even he can see that. It's nice that Dean is finally happy. It's all they wanted to begin with. 

Jessica grins. “Nothing. They just look so cute.”

Sam grimaces, crashing down to earth. “Jess, if you’re going to become a fan of Dean and Cas, don't talk to me about it.” 

“Oh fine.” She grabs the remote from him and increases the volume. 

*****

Dean hasn’t been this exhausted in a long time. He has been on his feet for hours, and the flashing lights in his eyes from all the flashbulbs might never go away. However, he still smiles when Castiel climbs into the limo behind him.

“Alright, Adams, take me back to Kansas,” he says once Castiel leans back against the seat, and he pats him hard on the thigh. 

“Already?” Castiel’s shoulders shake with a laugh. He looks tired too and a little tipsy, cutely rumpled like always. “Hollywood didn’t do it for you, huh?” 

“No.” Dean crinkles his nose up but then smirks. “Well, the food did.”

Castiel nods in amusement. He glances over at Dean, serious all of the sudden. “Either way, thanks for coming tonight.” 

"I wanted to be here," he says. 

They look at each other with soft smiles, and it's important, this brief moment on the way home, after a long night of people and reporters and champagne. This entire night was important. 

Dean asks after a moment, “How much damage did we do?” 

"I’m thinking a rumor that I got groped near a buffet table makes _E!_ tomorrow,” Castiel says. “You probably mixed me up with a platter of chicken.” 

“Shut up.” Dean leans over to kiss Castiel against the side of his neck. Now that the word groping has been mentioned, that seems like a good idea. He lets his hands drift up to clutch the other side of Castiel’s neck, his tongue flicking against the goosebumps rising on Castiel’s skin. He smirks into him and kisses him again. 

“Also…” Castiel utters taking in a breathless sigh. 

Dean continues his quest to see how quick he can make Castiel tremble in the back of this limo before they get back to the apartment so he's not even listening. 

Castiel clears his throat. “I talked to Ian and he promised to make sure all the reporters knew your name this time.” 

Dean hears the smile in Castiel’s voice, and he narrows his eyes, moving his head up so he can look at him. “So it’s like official then?” he asks. He takes Castiel’s tie in his hands and slowly unfolds the knot holding it. 

"I’m afraid so.” 

“You know, I think you owe me," he says, pulling the fabric from around Castiel’s neck and tossing it away. 

“Whatever you want," Castiel mumbles with his eyes on Dean's mouth.

Dean quirks an interested eyebrow. “ _Whatever_ I want?”

“Yes,” Castiel says impatiently, and he pulls at Dean to hurry him up. 

A sly grin spreads across Dean's face as their lips fall back together. Oh the things he wants. They haven't even scratched the surface, but if Castiel is willing to oblige, there's a list a mile-long already forming in his head.

*****

Castiel had only ever visited Lawrence three other times before his plane landed on Thursday evening, and one of those visits had been for Sam’s wedding. This trip would be the first time he could stay more than two days at Dean’s house.

Dean had been to L.A. a number of times, the last time being just last month, because Dean sold fishing poles at the family business. He could jet-off to see his boyfriend pretty much whenever he felt like it, and no one could do a damn thing about it. Castiel, on the other hand, had to rearrange his schedule, his assistant’s schedule, the studio’s schedule, and it seemed like dozens of other people’s schedules just to feel comfortable booking the flight. Then once he arrived, some pressing matter back home would always cut his trip short, and he’d have to take the redeye back to L.A., apologizing to Dean during the entire ride to the airport. 

This visit is supposed to be different. Castiel had promised about a dozen times before he arrived in Lawrence, and about a dozen times since dumping his bags off in Dean’s living room. So far, it has been different, considering it is Day Four and Castiel is very much still sleeping in Dean’s bed, if last night wasn’t a hallucination, and judging the good-sore feeling in certain parts of his body it wasn’t.

The man who just walked through the shop door, certainly doesn’t seem like a hallucination either, and he has Castiel’s blue eyes and wild brown hair. However, Dean is used to seeing Castiel dressed in carefully tailored suits and Italian leather shoes. So, there’s a good chance the Kansas University t-shirt and blue jeans might indeed be a hallucination. As Castiel draws near, pulling off his aviators and tucking them inside his collar, Dean realizes it is all very real. 

It’s a good thing one of them is enjoying this vacation because Dean definitely isn’t. Sunday, it was just a shipment delay. Monday, a mistake with the type of lures coming in, by Tuesday, Dean had a full-fledged disaster on his hands. This weekend is the county-wide fishing and hunting expo, and Winchester & Sons is the main sponsor. His stock room is covered in boxes, none of which seem to have the things he ordered inside of them, and he thinks the Mayor may kick him out of town if he doesn’t pull this shit together.

That’s why he’s on the phone when Castiel arrives for lunch. He’s been arguing with this supply company since five o'clock that morning, and they still don’t know where his goddamn stuff is. 

“I just need to know if it’s on the way….yes, I need it….Today! Now! I don’t care how it gets here…Because I can’t sponsor a youth fishing competition with adult rods, lady." 

Castiel puts down a ton of bags on the counter. All of them from different trinket shops Dean’s only ever seen the name of as he drives through town. He didn’t know people actually went inside of them. Dean gives Castiel, his dear Hollywood boyfriend, a look he suspects is the same one you always gets when you’re discovered to be a tourist. How Castiel’s a tourist in Lawrence, Kansas, Dean doesn’t even know. 

He doesn’t have the chance to ask because the customer service rep’s answer just gave him the hugest ulcer, and he starts yelling and cursing into the receiver and banging his fist on the counter. He doesn’t have time to consider whether he should be dialing down the anger in front of Castiel.   

Five minutes later he clicks the off button on the phone and tosses it away in pure disgust. He rubs his face with his hand, sighing, feeling angry and tired and a number of other things. He wonders if he should call his dad, who is out of town but has more connections than him and might be able to pull a rabbit out of his hat. He wonders– 

"Cas, what the hell is that?” Dean asks, his brain detouring as Castiel rummages around inside of his shopping bags. 

Castiel looks at him with a big smile as though he’s happier that Dean asked him about his purchase than finally saying hello. “It’s a coffee mug,” he says, holding it up. 

Dean raises an eyebrow at it. “A coffee mug?" 

"Yes, it has a map and everything. Oh! Can you believe this was only fifteen dollars?” Castiel asked, shaking his head as he reaches into another bag to pull out a t-shirt. Lawrence est. 1854 is written on the front.  

Dean’s brain is fried so he’s halfway afraid to ask. He does anyway. “Are you seriously buying Lawrence paraphernalia? Some people shouldn’t have money.  _You_  are one of them.”

Fingering the lettering on the front, Castiel shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I just liked it,” he says, putting it away. “So….? Sounds like lunch may be off?" 

Dean sighs again. He manages the most pathetic face because he genuinely hates how little he’s seen of Castiel. This was supposed to be a great week. He’d had plans for the two of them. Sexual ones. 

"I can’t leave. I’m really sorry,” he apologizes. “You’re probably mad right?” Sometimes Dean isn’t sure with Castiel, who has this tendency to hold it all in and then explode.

Castiel almost looks offended. “Why would I be mad? It isn’t your fault.” He puts his hand over Dean’s. “I’ll be fine on my own. I have my map,” he says, grinning when Dean reluctantly smiles at his terrible joke. “Plus, Mary asked me over for lunch and–”

“You’re hanging out with my mom?” Dean isn’t sure whether that’s a good feeling or a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“I wouldn’t call it hanging out,” Castiel answers, indiscreetly picking back up his shopping bags. 

Yeah, it’s definitely a bad feeling. “What would you call it?” he asks, stalking around the counter, even though Castiel is already backing his way out of the store, heading for the exit. 

“It’s nothing. Just a family history lesson.” Dean pretends he doesn’t hear the laughter in Castiel’s voice. “And maybe she mentioned photographs?" 

Dean skids to a halt. He can’t pretend there isn’t photographic evidence of his less than cool years. Those pictures were his mother and Sam’s pride and joy. "Photographs?”

Castiel covers his mouth, clearly laughing now. “Oh, don’t worry, Dean. Ninth grade is a bad year for everyone.”

The jerk leaves before Dean gets in another word, but it wouldn’t have mattered because just as the door swings closed, the store telephone begins to ring again. He dreads the possibility that yet another thing has gone wrong to make his life even more impossible, but mostly, he dreads the moment Castiel finally discovers Dean’s mullet phase and breaks up with him.

*****

Dean pulls into his driveway at ten o'clock that night. The day never got any better, and he’s worn out as he opens the front door, letting himself inside. He wants to collapse in bed and not think about the store anymore. He’ll need to put in a few hours in the morning, but the truck should arrive with his new shipment at six o'clock. Crisis adverted, if he doesn’t count losing another day with Castiel, who is really the only person he wants to see at the moment

Castiel is standing in the kitchen talking on his cellphone when Dean walks inside. He signals at Dean to give him a minute. Dean nods putting his things down on the table. There are three boxes of pizza out on the counter, one with his favorite and a couple pepperoni. Castiel is many things, but a chef isn’t one of them. A secret part of Dean is happy he won’t be forced to fake-enjoy Castiel’s attempts at cooking dinner again. The chicken spaghetti incident from last night was still fresh in his memory, and he had skipped lunch so he’s starving.

His stomach growls as he picks up a slice of pizza and gobbles down a couple of bites. He heads for the fridge and grabs a can of root beer. He manages to open it with one hand and drinks half it. When he finishes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Castiel is watching him.  

“I tried to call and let you know when I’d be home, but I got your voicemail,” Dean says, picking away a rogue mushroom. “Sorry it’s so late." 

Castiel waves that off with a smile, and he grabs a slice of pizza for himself, only he has the good manners to use one of the paper plates sitting next to the boxes. Dean realizes Castiel waited on him to eat which doesn’t make him feel any better. "I think I was in the shower,” he says, settling into the space next to Dean, leaning against the counter. 

Dean stuffs the remainder of the crust into his mouth, wiping the crumbs on his fingers away on his jeans. Castiel does smell rather squeaky clean like soap and cologne. His hair is damp, and he has paired his new Lawrence t-shirt with flannel pajama bottoms and bare feet. If only those people who spent their careers creating those best dressed celebrity lists knew the entire story about fashion mogul Castiel Adams, Dean thought. But, Castiel looks enticingly warm and sexy at the moment, and he leans over, kissing him on the cheek because he can.

Castiel returns it, kissing Dean on the lips. “I had a good day,” he says in reassurance. 

Dean can’t help but chuckle. “Without me?” he asks, joking but seriously wondering if Castiel is just being a good sport because that’s what he does. “You don’t have pretend this week hasn’t sucked. I’ve barely seen you." 

"I’m not pretending. I’m–” But Castiel’s cellphone begins to buzz on the counter, loud and intrusive, and Dean glances down at the picture on the screen. It’s Ian. 

“Should you get that?” Dean asks after a few seconds and Castiel is still eating his pizza instead of answering his cellphone. He has noticed Castiel’s phone barely ringing when usually the guy was forced to put it on silent for any peace and quiet. 

Castiel swallows the food in his mouth, shaking his head. “No, it’s just Ian,” he says.

“But it could be like show…stuff…” Okay, Dean barely knows what Castiel does all day. He admits that. He just knows he is dating one of those workaholic people whose phone calls always seem to be important. 

“No, he’s only giving me flight arrangements.” Castiel pops an entire pepperoni into his mouth. 

Dean feels the air inside him deflate. He wasn’t really counting on a week. Sure, this time it was mostly his fault, but it still came as a disappointment. “For tonight?” he asks, checking his watch. Whenever this happened, they always had to be at the airport in five minutes it seemed like. “What time?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel says, halfway annoyed, halfway amused. “For next week. I promised you no interruptions. I meant it.”

“But that was for–”

“It’s already been taken care of,” Castiel tells him. 

For a moment, Dean isn’t sure what to say. It’s almost too good to be true. He is getting a complete redo? For the entire week? It instantly gives him an energy boost, and he grins at Castiel, big and goofy, because they get to try this all over again. 

“This is great! This is great!” Dean whoops, close to picking Castiel up and spinning him around in the air. “I had all this stuff. You know? Planned. Fishing! I was gonna take you fishing. No, don’t make that face. It was gonna be great! Now we can. Wow! This–” Dean grabs Castiel’s shoulders, who looks windblown from this enthusiastic display, and Dean thinks he’s laughing. “Thank you! I love you!" 

Since they have never said that—I love you—to each other, Castiel’s face goes a tad slack and he carefully puts his plate down on the counter. Dean is still floating on cloud nine, and he can’t hear his own words until a few seconds later. He doesn’t want to take it back exactly; he just didn’t expect to blurt it out. He licks his lips into a smile. 

Castiel, though, looks very serious. "Was that a joke? Or was that–”

Dean shakes his head. “No, no, no. I think–” He swallows, saying, “Cas, I think that was the big. Um, thing.” He releases the breath he’s holding back. “I love you.”

“Oh.” Castiel is for some reason shocked as he stares at the ground for a few seconds. And, Dean isn’t sure what this means. Sure, they were terrible at first dates, at commitment stuff, at the romantic gestures, but he didn’t think his feelings for Castiel were unclear. 

“Cas?” Dean waits for him to look up. “Are you okay? Should I have not said that?" 

"No!” Castiel sighs, touching Dean’s face. “No, it’s so stupid. I just…I can’t believe you said it first!”

There’s a beat of silence before Dean understands what Castiel means. “You’re actually upset because you didn’t get to say it first?”

“I didn’t know you were ready yet. I was giving you time,” Castiel says accusingly, as if Dean should’ve left him a note or something. No, Castiel should’ve been paying better attention. 

Dean just stares at him. “Who says I needed time?" 

Freezing, Castiel raises an eyebrow in a question, but it takes him a second to ask the obvious one. "How long have you been in love with me?” he inquires, his voice losing some of its edge.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Except Dean does know. Maybe not the date, but he remembers where they were very clearly, when he could no longer quantify the emotion he had when they were together as something as simple as like. It was too much for that. They were driving back from visiting Sam and Jessica. They had fought the entire way up there over something stupid, like what road to take, he couldn’t even remember, but Castiel made up for it by pretending he thought all Sam’s nerd stuff was cool, by taking Jessica’s stalkerish fawning in stride, and by telling Dean to pull over on the way home and making out with him for thirty minutes in apology.

Castiel doesn’t buy his lie though. “You do know!” He says surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me?" 

Dean raises his shoulders up again, feeling embarrassed a little. "I didn’t—I didn’t know how to tell you—and I was waiting for the right time,” he says. 

Castiel gestures at himself, at the clothes he’s wearing. “And now was the right time?" 

Dean bets Castiel probably doesn’t want to know he has a speck of pizza sauce on his face too. "I was happy!” He says in defense. “You make me happy, okay? Maybe I should be mad at you. You didn’t say it back. It’s not like I’ve ever been in love with anyone else, man!” He pokes Castiel in the chest, irritated. 

With a pause, Castiel takes in Dean’s reminder with a breathless look to him. “It was that night at the awards. When you came with me? That’s when…I guess I did tell Ian,” Castiel says with a weak smile. That happened so logn ago, but not too long before their trip to Palo Alto. It was nice to think they were both feeling this way at the same time even if they were too dumb to say anything. 

“Mm, it was the tux.” Dean chuckles at himself, at the both of them. “You only love my body. Don’t you, Cas?”

Castiel reaches for Dean, sliding his arms around his neck. They are both grinning like idiots. Two idiots in love. “No,” he says, stealing a kiss. “I love you.”

*****

“What do you think?” 

“It has a grease stain.” Castiel frowns in disgust. Does he really walk around with Dean while he wears this shirt? “I can’t wear this.”

Dean rubs his hands down Castiel’s shoulders. “The stains give it character, Cas.”

Dean is visiting California for two weeks. After spending a few days up at Stanford with Sam and Jessica, he had made the drive down to Los Angeles. Currently, they are in the bathroom with Castiel sitting on top of the counter and Dean standing between his legs. They are getting dressed for Ian's party tonight. Dean insisted on helping Castiel into his outfit, using the term “outfit” as loosely as possible, because a Led Zeppelin t-shirt is not an outfit, _especially_ not this one of Dean’s. And honestly, Dean was mostly just handsy than he was any help. 

Tonight is the season premiere of _Boys Helping Boys_ , and Ian invited everyone over for a viewing of Dean's episode. Despite Ian insisting it was going to be a small and intimate affair, Castiel knows Ian better than that. His parties are never small and his friend never passes up the opportunity to tell a room full of people the story of how Dean and Castiel got together now that they went public. So wearing this greased-stained shirt to a party? Not on his list of things to do. Ever. No matter what he promised, he shouldn't be held accountable for things said in the heat of the moment. 

“It smells too.” Castiel pokes his finger through a hole near the bottom completely confused about why there are holes in this shirt. He needs to buy Dean new clothes. 

“Like me,” Dean says giddy. He’s enjoying this. “And I smell awesome.”

“Dean, I hate to break it to you but most of the time you smell like dirt and sweat.” Castiel glances up at him then back at the shirt. He can’t believe he agreed to this. 

“That’s man smell.” Dean nods. “It’s normal.” 

“It’s not normal,” Castiel says, still fiddling with the shirt. When he looks up again, Dean has on his thinking-face clearly considering that perhaps he needs to check in case Castiel’s right and he _does_ smell. “Straight boys,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

Dean isn't amused by the joke judging the set-in frown. 

Castiel still catches himself occasionally wondering if Dean is going to wake up and remember he's giving up an entire part of himself so they can be together. Or the way Ian always says it, “start to miss boobs.” The only time they ever talked about it, Dean got mad and told Castiel he was crazy. That he was the only person that had ever meant anything to him. Besides Ian was always glad to remind Castiel, he’s boyfriend wasn’t straight. He was bi. 

“You love it,” Dean says, leaning in for a kiss, his lips lingering. 

Castiel kisses Dean back until he remembers his problem. “I can’t wear this.” 

“Please,” Dean whines. “For me.” 

Damn him. “When I agreed to letting you pick my clothes, I thought you’d choose, I don’t know a new shirt," he says. He is going to wear the shirt but he’s going to let his complaints be known. 

“Just do it, Cas,” Dean demands. He kisses Castiel quickly and pulls him down from the counter. “Come on. I don’t wanna be late and miss it.” 

“Oh.” Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “So you’re a fan now?” He teases with a smile. 

Dean pauses for a moment, but he grins back at him. “Oh yeah. Huge, _huge_ fan.”

*****

Dean used to watch a show called _Beyond the Hunt_ during his lunch break. Sitting among the shelves filled with fishing equipment, cans of neon lures, hunting knives, and pop-up tents, he would plop down on his half-painted stool. He would watch completely enthralled with the duo of experts traveling the country on their outdoor adventure every week. There is something about the combination of the pine smell that permeates the store and the sight of people with guns in their hands that makes him think one day Winchester  & Sons will stand against the big chain stores and win. 

How hard can it be after all? People everywhere like to hunt and fish. Dean and his dad opened a new store just recently, and it is a nice thought that one day this will all be his.

His only customer, an elderly man wearing a pair of dirtied overalls and a camouflage hat, is browsing through the fishing poles. It’s been a slow morning, and he decides he’s not bothering with the “closed” sign on the door and sits down on his stool. Wrestling with the paper wrapped around his cheeseburger, he switches the dial on the TV until he comes to the right channel. A female and male TV host welcome him to the program and promise all the latest gossip coming out of Hollywood. 

He watches the opening for a second before flipping on the small portable radio sitting next to the TV. There’s a slight static noise, and then the speakers blast out with guitars rifts and heavy drums. He nods, recognizing the song. He needs both devices on so he feels less ridiculous. He does the same thing when he watches _Dr. Sexy M.D._ in the mornings. 

He stuffs a french fry in his mouth and gathers the greasy burger in his hands, taking a bite. It’s delicious, and he already knows he will wish he’d gotten a double burger when he’s finished. He is only three bites and a handful of fries into his meal when his ears perk up at the name just said on the TV.

“…Adams’s camp tell us the rising _Boys Helping Boys_ star is heating things up with his everyman-lover. They’re house hunting and sources say the couple is happier than ever. This news comes in the midst of the recent announcement that Adams is busy parlaying his TV gig into starting his own clothing line. We’re told it’ll launch next year in department stores,” the reporter says, turning to her co-host. “Makes you wonder if Ethan Kelly’s sending them a house-warming gift doesn’t it?” The show segways into a story about a disgraced teenage starlet, and Dean stops paying attention. 

These shows get everything wrong. Well, Castiel _is_ doing the clothing line thing. However, Dean still lives in Lawrence, and Castiel definitely still lives in Los Angeles. It sounds like a story someone pulled completely out of their ass, and it makes him laugh. He needs to share it with someone so he pulls his cellphone out. 

The line rings five times before Castiel’s voice answers on the other end. A loud chatter echos in the background.

Suddenly, Dean feels silly because what he’s called to say is nonsense. Castiel is in New York City working with designers picking out something, models or fabric samples maybe. He can’t remember since he may of only been half-listening when Castiel brought up the subject. 

“You were going to tell me we’re moving in together, right Cas?” Dean asks, grabbing a fry and shoving the entire thing into his mouth. 

“Moving in?” Castiel already sounds frustrated. 

Dean smirks. He’s always found it funny that Castiel is the famous one but his response to gossip is always anger. He still doesn't talk about Dean in interviews which only adds to the public interest in their relationship. 

“Front page news, man. Castiel Adams is getting a new live-in boyfriend. Now if it’s not me, you can just say so,” he says. 

"It’s not you,” Castiel dead-pans. Then he sighs. “This sounds like Ian’s handiwork.” 

Dean laughs into the phone. “You think Ethan will send us a house-warming gift for the mantle?”

“This isn’t funny, Dean,” Castiel says. There’s a short pause, and the sound of wheels spinning can be heard hundreds of miles away. “But I’ll take care of it. Sorry. This is embarrassing. Sorry.” 

Dean has learned this whole gossip thing goes with the job description and never to believe anything he sees on TV or reads on the covers of magazines. He finds most of it hilarious. Even the Ethan stuff. 

“Cas,” he says. “I take this denial to mean we’re not moving in together. This is good. I hate packing.” He absently picks through the food in front of him. He should let Castiel go. He’s surely busy. Lately though, all he has gotten is phone calls so he isn't ready to hang up. 

“You hate _packing?_ ”

“The lifting and organizing, and you always lose stuff. Yeah, I hate it."

Sam’s move to California was a two week ordeal, and Dean found himself still dreaming of boxes days after Jessica and his brother were on their merry way to Palo Alto. 

“So packing is the reason we’re not moving in together? Not because you don’t want to live with me? That’s sweet.” Castiel says obviously amused. 

Sitting up straighter, Dean begins to say something when he hears another voice in his ear, and there’s a brief discussion that he can’t make out. 

Castiel comes back a few seconds later with an apology. “Sorry. It’s a little crazy here.” 

"No, it’s okay.” Dean stands, pushing away his burger, all of the sudden feeling anxious. He paces back and forth behind the counter. “Cas…I…” 

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice deepens. “I’m glad you called. Forget the last thing I said.”

Forget it? That’s impossible. They are very careful to side-step any talks about commitment so things like this never come up. “I’d save money on plane tickets,” he blurts out, either hoping that’s the right thing to say or trying to keep the subject going. He stops moving and waits for a response which doesn’t come for a second. 

“Is that your way of saying you want to talk about this?” Each word is slow and careful like Castiel’s nudging something with his toe that any minute could jump up and bite him. 

“Is that what—” Dean shifts the cellphone from one hand to the other. “—you’re saying?” 

“I’m saying…” Castiel’s breath quickens, and all the background noise stops. He just stepped out of the room, and the quiet makes this conversation seem more serious. "We could see each other more,” he finishes. 

“Yeah.” Dean scratches a hand through his hair, moving to sit back on his stool. “Yeah, we could. Definitely.” 

There's no doubt. He misses Castiel, and if he thought about that all the time, he would drive himself crazy. Living together though? That is more than seeing each other more, that's seeing each other all the time. He suddenly wishes they were having this conversation in person. 

“Okay…?" Castiel trails off.

“Okay.” Dean narrows his eyes. Even if he’s not entirely sure about the idea, he doesn’t want to be the only one agreeing to this. 

“So living together is on the table?” Castiel quickly adds, “For discussion.” 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Moving. In. Together?” Castiel emphasizes the words again. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says sharply, letting his elbows rest on the counter. He has never lived with anyone, but since Cas and him have been together almost a year, the benefit of the doubt would be nice. “I’m not flipping out. We can talk about this.” 

“Sorry, I know you’re not,” Castiel says, a nervous quiver in his voice.

“This is that ‘next level’ stuff," Dean points out. 

Jessica taught him the term during one of her many advice-giving sessions, which only occur when he calls and she attacks Sam and steals the phone. Normally, he ignores her incessant hinting, and he actually misses her Castiel Adams and Ethan Kelly obsession. Funny, it seems like something she said might’ve stuck.

There is dead silence on the other end. If he was there with him, Castiel would be giving Dean that bewildered look of confusion he gets when he's caught off guard. "The next level is one way of putting it,” Castiel says. 

“I would move there?” Dean asks. Despite the topic coming up unexpectedly, he has a ton of questions in his head, all of which seem complicated. 

“Dean, you hate L.A.” 

He loves _visiting_ Los Angeles. He gets to see Cas, and he often manages the six-hour trek up to Stanford so he can check on Sam. The city just isn’t his kind of place, and he never feels comfortable anywhere except in Castiel’s apartment.

“I don’t hate it,” he says instead of the truth, picking up a pen and thumping it against his knee. 

“You own a perfectly good house. I could move there," Castiel says. 

He perks up at the proposition of Castiel living in Lawrence, and his mind wanders off into a daydream before he can help it. He pictures them living in his house, waking up together, eating dinner, celebrating holidays, and sitting around on the weekends. Castiel dozing on the porch in that old swing he likes, Dean in the driveway under the hood of the Impala. It is scary how quick his mind fits Castiel in as if he’s always been there, how all their stuff goes together, how nice the idea makes him feel. He smiles after a moment. He wouldn’t have to uproot his entire life, and they could really be together. It sounds perfect. 

There’s just one problem. 

“Gotta say the TV industry isn’t exactly thriving in Lawrence,” Dean says. He looks around him for a moment. His only customer is now holding up a fishing pole running his skilled fingers along the line to test it. “But I could open a store anywhere.”

"You would do that?” Castiel asks him. 

Dean tries to imagine not working in his dad’s store everyday. Something he’s done since he was a teenager. Then he tries to imagine himself living in Los Angeles. Going to parties with Castiel’s friends. Ducking out of the way when the photographers get to close. His entire life changes if he moves to L.A. He swallows down the worry building in his throat, when the same daydream creeps up on him. Sure, the location is changed, but the same warmness of sharing a space together is there. This time Sam and Jessica come around, and he likes the idea of living closer to Sam. He pictures Cas and him eating breakfast every morning and then collapsing back in bed because there’s no hurry or flights to catch. And somehow it all still fits. 

It's so simple. They just fit together.

“I guess I would, Cas.” He’s never been more sure of anything.

"Dean—” Castiel bites back the rest of whatever he’s going to say. He is no doubt figuring out a way to save Dean from himself like usual. 

"It makes more sense for us to live there,” he says, the smirk back on his face. Sam would love to see this. Dean Winchester, not only committing, but talking someone else into it. 

“Sense?” Castiel chuckles and then sighs. “This is crazy.” 

“Crazy because I’m suggesting it or just in general?” he asks.

"Crazy because of… _everything,_ ” Castiel says obtusely.

Dean suddenly recalls the memory of the day they met, that crazy awesome day that changed his life. Changed them both. “Let’s do it,” he says. 

“Okay.” Castiel says without hesitation. “But—”

He raises an eyebrow. “But?”

“Dean, stop watching E! because if this is how you get ideas, we’re going to have problems." 

Dean laughs again. “No promises.” 

Castiel sighs. “I just had a minute when I saw it was you. I’ll call you tonight." 

This time Dean isn't as sad when they say goodbye. Instead, he feels like pumping his fist in the air and declaring this entire thing awesome, which he doesn’t do, because now the bell on the door is ringing and a pair of regulars walk up to the counter. With a smile on his face, he tosses his cold, half-eaten lunch into the trash and gets back to work. 

*****

Across the room, an alarm clock reads, 9:37 in neon green. For a second, Dean panics. Shit, he's late. He should have been at the shop three hours ago. The main truck delivers on Wednesdays, and his dad will be pissed if he’s not there to receive the shipment. However, as his eyes adjust to the light peeking through the window behind him, it dawns on him that he isn’t late at all.

Sam had called it a miracle. Jessica, he said, just screamed and suspiciously got on the internet for an hour. Sam isn’t sure, but he thinks she may run a blog called _Dean and Cas Forever,_ seeing as how it broke the news before every other reputable news outlet. 

Dean still doesn’t see the big deal. He's been dating Castiel over a year, and he doesn’t think living together will change anything, despite what Sam suggests. In his eyes, it means exactly this. Waking up and not worrying about the clock. Likewise, until his dad and him finish settling all the logistics of opening their very first store on the west coast, he’s unemployed so he can sleep in today. 

He snuggles back into the warm sheets that are stiff from being unpackaged yesterday for the very first time, and he rolls onto his side. The sight of a yawning Castiel greets him, and his eyes are bluer than usual this morning. Blue and temptingly inviting. He snakes himself onto Castiel’s side of the bed and proceeds to wiggle himself on top of him.

“You’re still here,” Castiel says in the middle of another yawn.

“Yeah, I’m still here. It’s a dream come true, isn’t it?” he teases. 

Castiel manages to look both interested in what Dean’s hands are doing and drowsy at the same time. "It’s not a terrible sight to wake up to,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again, and then he turns over. 

It isn't until Castiel settles into a rhythm of tiny snores that Dean realizes he's fallen back asleep. “Cas," he says. 

Castiel clutches his pillow tight against his cheek with a lazy smile. “Mmmhmm?” 

The dude better be dreaming about him damn it. “It’s late. Wake up," he says.

“I don’t have any place to be…” Castiel whines followed by another series of snores. 

“Neither do I so we should totally be having sex right now.”

They totally should. Moving across the country is not only hard, but it takes lots of time. They already had limited access to each other, but lately all their time was spent apartment hunting. They eventually decided on a three bedroom condo with an elevator entrance and a patio. It was in some fancy-schmancy high rise in downtown Los Angeles, but the place felt like the one as soon as they walked inside.

Preparing for the move took forever. A week for Dean to pack his house and eight weeks before that to sell it. He is exhausted, and Castiel probably is too. Still, they have been in their new apartment for sixteen hours now, and it's about time they start christening the bedroom and every other spot in this place.

However, Castiel is snoring again, and Dean hates that he looks so comfy and peaceful underneath the comforter. His hair is sticking up all over his head, and if Dean wasn’t so needy, he would’ve spent the rest of the morning staring at the guy. Instead, he kisses the side of Castiel’s face and doesn’t stop kissing him until Castiel is back with him, this time wide awake and arching like a cat into the palm on his cheek.

“Is this what I have to look forward to every morning?” Castiel murmurs, lightly kissing Dean back on his bottom lip.

Dean gives him a sideways smirk. “I like a little sex with my coffee.” He lets his head fall into the folds of Castiel’s neck, and he kisses him there, tasting the saltiness of his hot skin. 

Castiel brushes his fingertips through the short hairs at the base of Dean’s neck. “Sex with me?”

Dean lifts his head. “Yes,” he says with a weird look. “Of course you.”

“Hmm,” Castiel hums as though this is new information.

For a scary second, Dean isn’t sure where this conversation is headed, until Castiel tilts his head to the side with a light grin. “How do you take your coffee?” he asks. 

Castiel already knows the answer to this question. He complains all the time that what Dean drinks is just oil masquerading as coffee. Though, what Castiel drinks is just sugar and whipped cream. If it isn’t strong enough to grow a little hair on your chest, Dean would rather pass. Still, he answers anyway.

“Black. The blacker the better.” 

“And me? How do you like me?” Castiel asks all innocent, but he definitely, definitely means it in the dirty way Dean takes it. 

The question effectively ruins Dean as he ponders all the possibilities. A few seconds pass before he decides. “On top." He swallows thickly before adding, “Where I can see you.”

“Very well,” Castiel says, sighing out. He pushes Dean onto his back landing over top of him. Then he sits up on Dean’s lap and bends to kiss him on the mouth. 

Dean moans out and rubs his hands all over Castiel’s bare back. They kiss for a long time, slow then fast, tasting and nipping, breaking apart only to shed their clothes and find lube. Doing this with Cas is familiar now. He knows how they fit, where Castiel likes to be touched, where he loves Castiel to kiss him. Yet, there is something new this time. Today it isn't, hello I haven’t seen you in forever. Or a goodbye quickie in the backseat of a limo. This isn't some lonely night where they just miss the sounds of each other's voices. 

This is today and tomorrow and for as long as they like.

Now splayed out naked on the bed, Dean decides he can really get used to this, and he can’t believe he waited this long to do the commitment thing with Castiel. It's going to be awesome. It already is. “I’m gonna like living with you,” he declares with a dopey grin on his face.

Castiel flexes his hips making Dean whimper breathlessly at the feeling of his cock inside of him, then he wraps his long fingers, gentle-like, around Dean’s face. “I love you,” he says. 

Dean smiles at that, bristling with pride. “I lo—”

Castiel covers Dean’s mouth, stopping him before he can finish reciprocating the exchange. “But!" he leers closer, his eyes darkening blue gray like thunderclouds, his voice lowering. “Don’t ever wake me up before eleven again."

So Castiel isn’t really a morning person. Dean wonders how he’s never noticed this before. "Even for sex?” he asks worried.

“Especially not for sex. Only if you’re dying.”

“But what if—”

“You will never be dying from lack of sex.” 

Dean frowns. "So what am I supposed to do?” he asks then immediately and loudly moans at the hard thrust of Castiel’s body against his. 

He can’t help it. If anything, this is entirely Castiel’s fault. He shouldn’t be so good at that thing with his dick and his hips and his tongue and his everything, and he is still doing the hip thing so Dean isn’t even feeling as argumentative as he normally would. He is ready to agree to whatever Castiel wants as long as he continues to fuck him. 

Castiel pats Dean on the cheek. "I suggest you find a hobby,” he says shifting Dean up onto his knees and hotly filling every inch him. 

He is about to ask what kind of hobby could be better than hot sex with his boyfriend, when Castiel runs his hands along his thighs and starts to jerk him off, while still carrying on with the hip thing making Dean see stars. He soon forgets what they were even discussing. 

“Cas,” Dean gasps out his name, aching for it all over. He wants Castiel buried inside him for the rest of the afternoon until they both can’t move, until they get to wake up together again tomorrow. 

“You’re still here,” Castiel whispers against his neck but this time he marvels at the discovery. 

“Yeah. I’m still here,” Dean says gazing back at Castiel with true fondness. It’s a dream he never expected, but it’s come true all the same. 


End file.
